


Salt: Movement 02 (Family Monotagari; By God it Hurts. Change burns like hellfire.)

by catchandelier



Series: Salt: The Story [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: A family can be a sad bird!pops and his egg, All Magic Comes With a Price, Angst, Black Humor, Born of Wolves, Character Study, Consequences, Fluff, Future Vision, Growth, Haki, Infanticide, Kinks, Magic, Multi, Music, Pain, Prophecy, Psychic Abilities, Rape, Sex, Sexism, Training from Hell, Transformation, because thy parents are perverts, change, crazy bullshit, fart jokes, grisly details, haki is magic, liars, relationships are hard, sex kinks, spite, spy shit, thieves, this story is not for kids, why are the wedding photo's like that?, wild child - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:52:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 196,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catchandelier/pseuds/catchandelier
Summary: If you want to find the real competition, just look in the mirror. After a while, you'll see your rivals scrambling for second place.Expect: Training, and the results thereof. What it really means to grow as a person. Change and Transformation are not things anyone Wants to Do. Pain. Character growth. A slower study of characters and who they really are. What it truly means to be- more. Relationships. Pain. Communication. Non-communication. Miscommunication. Consequences. Spies and Liars. The unbearable internal pressure of being alive. The Price of Magic. What God really is. Music. Consequences. Sexism. Black Humor. Fart Jokes. Growing Up. Pain.Things change. And friends leave. Life doesn't stop for anybody.





	1. 00:00; The Mab who Stole the World

For some goddamn reason, I’m always the last to leave a party. It’s not something I really plan, it just- always seems to work out that way.

After everything is cleaned up and packed away; after all the guests have gone, and the house put to rights again, and the food cleared away dishes washed chairs and tables put in their sleeping places there’s only me and sunset and stars.

 

I’m always last to go.

 

I close my eyes and focus, my purse hooked over one shoulder. A cloud passes over the three new-risen moons, and by the blinking of the guards I vanish from the black sands of Amazon Lily. I open my eyes in my studio. I turn my head and stare at Bryony and Sabo, who are making out on the washing machine. I clear my throat meaningfully. Sabo yelps, and backs off, but doesn’t get very far because Bryony has her legs hooked around his hips and she is actually stronger at kicking and clinging- grappling- especially with her legs. His belt is unbuckled- brown, black matte buckle- and his pants are very loose and her swimsuit is a two piece but her bottoms are on the floor?  **Oh!**

Oh thank god, she remembered, I’d have gone absolutely spare if there were bodily fluids on things in my studio. Laundry room- that washer especially- is much easier to sanitize.

 

“So- stop whimpering with fear, she’s grown enough to fool around- so, I’m packing and cleaning. Straw Hat Pirates are, by order of the Captain, disbanded for training. You have the next two years to get yourself ready for the New World- and two weeks grace starting from New Years; then you have to get the fuck off the ship. Mhm- two years from now, two weeks grace to come back starting from New Years Day. If you’re going another round, there’s condoms in- oh, he has some?”

 

Bryony nods cheerfully.

 

“Cool. Mark here?”

“With the animals.”

“Of course- I’ll be checking in at some point to make sure you’re not dead or naked, but- I’ll leave you to it, shall I?”

“Please, thank you!” says Bryony.

 

Sabo squeaks and blushes. I’m quite sure I don’t need to know why. 

 

Now that I’m away a bit, I can think it- Sabo Teur is a Fuckboy, and that’s the way it is. Most Mariners- or spies, I suppose- are. With that said, Bryony is a Gamayun Mossa; she doesn’t do things for no reason. And she’s not kind, like me- she’s not quite honest, either. Might have said she’d be hanging out with Moda, but that’s not what’s  _ actually _ happening. Might happen later- not what’s happening now.

That’s going to be fun to watch. From a distance. Like, a six mile distance, due to the size of the explosions.

 

 

I walk into the kitchen, start packing up in there first; Sanji’s knives go in a carrying case, because I’m not leaving them here. Every dish, every towel, every surface gets cleaned; I clean out the fridge, the freezer, make sure each spice and shelf-stable good is sealed. Mark clomps in-

 

“Ah good- crew’s disbanded for the next two years to train for the New World. You’ve two weeks since New Year's day to make arrangements off this ship-”

“Oh. Um- I’ve made an agreement with Miss Shakky. She’s going to train me when I get back from Baltigo- she’ll also look after the animals and home farm while I’m gone.”

“You trust her?”

“Mm. More than Duval’s yahoos.”

“Fair enough- I’ll introduce her to the Ladies so she doesn’t get eaten.”

“Thanks. So- two weeks to get out, two years to train, two weeks to come back from New Year's day?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright. Ah- can you pack everything for me? I need to get some things from around the ship...”

“Sure.”

 

And Mark nods and immediately starts pulling out explosives from various bolt holes in the dining room. I leave him to it, carry Sanji’s knives into the men’s dorms. Uuugh, forgot- jeeze, I have Laundry. Okay. Open the vents, turn on the fan- the stonk isn’t actually that bad. Bugs attended to it with great aplomb, there’s just a lingering scent from unmoving air. I strip the beds, clean them out of everything- every nook, every cranny. There are duffles enough for everyone; I pack clean clothing first, toiletries, their toothbrushes and combs. I’ll have to do laundry before I’ll actually be done with anyone on the crew though.

I- I can’t get everything done in time without… I know.

I’m doing this the slow way so as not to make mistakes- but- I know my crewmates, and I need to just… I just need to do it. Just play the song, Mab.

Actually, first, take a shower and change clothes, I feel grody.

 

 

One hot shower later, I’m clean, oiled, and in clean clothing- very similar to my battle attire, actually. Just- shorts and low-vis tights, I’m tired of wearing leather for the moment. Now- Miss Shakky.

She’s lounging on the garden bench when I walk out. As I get closer, I see that she’s been- crying.

Ah. I had forgotten.

 

I sit next to her on the bench. I wait, quietly.

 

“Morgan was the one who introduced me to Ray, y’know.”

“Mm?”

“Twenty year's it’s been, and- and they’re really gone, aren’t they? All three of them, now.”

“They are.”

“I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was your- your-”

“Mother.”

“-Thank you. I was your mother’s gunner and tactician, and I  **left** her. I left her- When she disbanded our crew, little Mihawk went with Rouge and Crocus- well, he’d been with Roger, and then Rouge- little Mihawk went to Roger, and then Roger disbanded his crew and I had Ray but who did she have? Mab,  _ who did your mother have?” _

“...No one, Shakky. Morgan had no one.”

 

I hold Miss Shakky while she sobs. She pulls herself together after- oh, about an hour. She’s going to be okay- not right now, but- aha, Duval. Wow, his nose sure is crooked- and he’s caught my eye, looks at Miss Shakky, back at me. Nods.

I nod back, then… ah, Sabo and Bryony are on deck? And there’s Mark. I’m not going to get another chance like this, I think-

 

“Miss Shakky, is this the best spot for our ship, or…?”

“Oh- no, we need to be- here, on this map.”

“Oh- Scrubble’s Boatyard?”

“What’s one more boat in a boatyard, hey?”

“Fair enough. I- I need both my arms, though.”

“Oh- sorry, sure.”

 

I let go of Miss Shakky, reach under the bench, lay a hand on the neck of my pipa. Pipa in my lap, check to see it’s tuned- it is. I play a  [ song for boats and sailing ](https://youtu.be/UiNqMDOASQ4) . The pipa twangs in my lap. Where normally a flute would pipe, I sing, softly- wordless tune, but echoing. Fabric things are cleaned and packed away; various objects are sorted, cleaned, polished, put in their places. Ropes slither into place. Sails unfurl and catch the wind. In the moonlight, our ship moves from it’s spot by Hachi’s Takoyaki to it’s new hiding spot in Scrubble’s Boatyard.

Sunny nudges _ just so _ into a spot in the boatyard.

Miss Shakky sighs from next to me; her exhale is full of nostalgia.

 

Dark water laps at the hull. Twelve duffle bags sit neat as you please on the deck. Two of them shuffle towards Bryony and Mark; theirs, of course. I focus on each of my crewmates in turn, and send their duffle to them- Except for Robin. Robin, sensitive to me as she is, tells me- ‘No, not yet.’ and so hers is held back. And Sanji’s knives I’m delivering personally- we talked about it, actually. He’d rather have them delivered by hand, not Devil Fruit magic. 

(When I looked at them in their case on the kitchen counter, I reached for him- he saw them through my eyes, even with the uncomfort of his gaze through mine- and he felt to me that he’d like to see me with them, for me to bring them and me to him and for us to be together. Are you sure? It’s going to be a while- are you sure that’s what you want?

And he felt- yes. That is what I want.

And I felt- Okay. See you then, my love.)

 

Finish the song, furl the sails. Bryony lets out a joyful whoop, leaps down; Mark is a bit more solemn, clasps his hand to mine before he departs. Sabo is shifty eyed.

 

“Keep an eye on them while they’re in your sights, Cousin Sabo Teur.”

 

Sabo looks at me; puts his open hand over his heart, and bows.

 

“Thank you; I shall.” His voice is...  [ actually quite rich and lovely ](https://youtu.be/8MRY78ElP1Q) . Huh.

I understand Bryony’s attraction now, but… no, still a fuckboy. Only one way to deal with fuckboys on this ship. I smile at him, incline my head in thanks, then cheerily kick him directly in the ass and off our ship. He falls onto the pier with a yelp and a surprised cackle from Bryony.

 

“Hahahahaha- oh, I remember when your mother did that to Roger. Oh, oh- I haven’t seen that in years.” says Miss Shakky.

“Hmhmhmhmhm. She taught me how, so- oh, before you leave. I need to add you to the accepted list- we keep bees?”

“Mark mentioned- You need something of mine?”

“Blood is best, but something you’ve sweat on profusely will also work.”

“...I need to change pads…?”

“Ah, that’ll be fine.”

“Sure- bathroom still open?”

“Eh- yeah, a little bit.”

 

 

I give the ladies the blood-and-chunk stained wad of cotton. I tell them of my mother’s Death. 

The four hives devour the cotton wad; even though I’m leaving… Too late now. I write out very clear instructions over each of the hives, make sure everything is set correctly- then I’m just stalling.

I go down to Channel 2. I load the purple sailed  _ Fulmarine Tern _ with my duffle, Robin’s duffle, my pipa, my spear; my sewing machine, a hammock, my spiders, Sanji’s knives. Jar of crickets on my belt, next to my belt pouch- they’re good for ambiance, as well as general weather-casting, temperature gauging, and racing. All the crap from my parent’s house I need to go through; I’m not keeping everything. I double check to make sure the drogues are secure and in good condition;  _ Fulmarine’s _ really a fishing boat. I’m taking her to Angel Island to have her rebuilt for long distance voyages, but- there’s a reason Franky was able to turn the pink-sailed  _ Shearwing _ into a highspeed courser, and there’s a reason he couldn’t turn the purple-sailed  _ Fulmarine _ into the same.

There’s a specific stretch of skysea I want to spend the night in- final check before I go. Everything packed and sent off, check; everything that couldn’t be sent off, check. Ship taken care of, check. Alright. Time to go.

 

I untie  _ Fulmarine _ . I close my eyes. I  **focus.** The ship settles into wobbles softly, then firms as her hull catches into soft white waves. I drive her harpoon-like cloud-anchor into an island cloud-spit nearby, set up a simple rig for a hammock; settle in to sleep. The smell of the cloudsea; the sight of our galaxy, spinning above like clouds; the gentle bob of Fulmarine; the graceful chirrup of sleepy sea-crickets. It all feels so comforting- and yet, without Sanji… I sleep in fits and starts, curled up in my hammock, alone. Finally, just before dawn, I kick myself out of bed with a whimper and give it up for a bad job.

 

 

I sail past rolling hills of green, tangled detritus being industriously dismantled by bird-winged people, until finally- Angel Island. So different from how I saw it those months past- no near empty city, this is a bustling hive of industry. A cherubim- oh, Shandian- oh, Wiper!

I clasp his forearm in greeting, allow him to direct me into drydock. I hadn’t planned on calling in this favor so soon, but- a crackle, the stench of ozone and heat. Conis found a pineapple-Fate then? Good for her; someone needs to hold the Lightning Fate.

 

“Queen Mab!”

“Ah- Conis, chairete!”

“Heso! I hadn’t expected you for ages-”

“Aha, well, Captain decided to send us all off on training trips for the next two years- we aren’t ready for the New World, y’see.”

“Aaaahaha. That’s a good reason to split up for a spell; and you need a boat, right?”

“Well-  _ Fulmarine Tern _ is a good little boat, but...”

“She’s not quite up to what you’d ask of her. D’you want the things on her unloaded, sold?”

“Um. Some of those things I probably do want to keep, but most of them...”

“Hm. We’ll unload them, and you and Little Aisha can go through them together- yes?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, thank you.”

“Of course.”

 

 

 

“I don’t need the dining set; leave the dining table and the chairs- oh, for sale stickers, perfect. The dishes won’t make it out at sea, I need metal or wood- thank you. Bedding needs a wash, but is comfortable- oh, I’m getting a cloud bed? That’ll be nice at all levels, thank you. Pillowcases, sheets, new pillows to match the mattress; quilts are being kept, Mom made it for me with Aunt Zippy, and that one I finished myself.

“Ah, perfect- my  [ old fashioned wringer-washer and scrub board ](http://www.bestdryingrack.com/images-new/wringer-washer-side-large4.jpg) . Keep that, s'good for conditioning certain muscles. Drying line and clips- yep, keep those. Ship lanterns- keep those, but if better is available, use that.

“Ah- all my old school things. Keep the  [ jacket ](https://www.picclickimg.com/d/w1600/pict/141029630002_/LEATHER-STEAMPUNK-ROCK-MILITARY-MENS-JACKET-UNIQUE-NEW.jpg) \- that’s proof of my graduation, I’m not giving that up for nothing, I worked too hard for it. Similarly, I’m not giving up my school books- especially not my mathemagics texts, those are… those are special to me. Nostalgically, I mean. I’ll keep the  [ potions materials ](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/dumbledoresarmyroleplay/images/7/7f/Wikia_DARP_-_Potion-mixing_Room.png/revision/latest?cb=20120711210424) as well, though I’ll need to replace all the perishables, it’s been- ah, good, thank you for mentioning the apothecary and chemist. I’ll- oh, you can just have someone stop ‘round, get replacements for what needs replacing, good, saves me a trip; and a dedicated cabinet area in the kitchen should do, aye? Good, good.

“Tasteful wall hangings and various paintings I don’t mind- oh, these are quite lovely. No, no- they’re reproductions, the real ones are on walls, dear. I- you like them that much? I’m not taking all of them, I only want one or two- oh, this one, with  [ the water lilies and the bridge ](http://artmuseum.princeton.edu/files/styles/tms_flexslider_full/public/imagecache/external/ece32f882bf147792612889d2a44d1eb.jpg?itok=cJ_AW6FY) , that’s where I grew up… Aha, and  [ the four seasons ](http://artnouveauposters.biz/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/mucha-precious-stones-and-flowers.jpg) , you’re a bit too young for those I think- yes, those are Djinni. The artist was named Mucha- oh, and there’s my Erte look-book. Hmm? Oh, it’s examples of fashions for about the past… three hundred years? Oh, and that one’s all about  [ Tinga-tinga ](https://www.google.com/search?q=tinga+tinga+paintings&rlz=1C1SAVK_enUS527US527&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiXn9mRxdLSAhUl9IMKHeJCAYoQ_AUICSgC&biw=911&bih=432) \- hmhmhmhm, yeah, they do look like they’re going to move don’t they? Traditional Djinn art is very beautiful and very varied; this is just stuff I like, personally.

“ [ The pink couch? ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/600x315/09/a9/d0/09a9d036d89a68cefe91e045d072a026.jpg) Hell no I’m not selling that, it’s too comfy! I would like it restrung and refurbished and refinished though, it was saggy five years ago- in leather I think, something easy to wipe down. Of course I’m going to have sex with my husband on it, it’s a couch! Ah, and if it could be against the wall-? Perfect. Oh, yeah- I actually would like to keep the pink color if at all possible. Cool, cool cool cool.

“The clothes… It’s all too small, or not my style, or just not functional for work- although... I’ll keep my crop tops for training shirts, especially the capped sleeve ones. Everything else can be sold. I’ll keep the white towels, and the beach towels- everything else can be sold. New bath soaps and toiletries, and no tub- no, no tub, I’ll use the extra space for a washer-dryer set, one of the small ones that stack. It rains, dear. A simple shower that has either a curtain or a low ledge- perfect, thank you.

“Curtains- keep the white, sell the rest. Keep the  [ bench ](https://st.hzcdn.com/simgs/e93188fd039b5865_4-9639/asian-indoor-benches.jpg) , it’s sized for the couch. No, outgrew all the shoes- sell. I’ll keep three of the rugs, the nicest ones; one for the veranda sitting area, so the all weather one- yes,  [ the one with the fish ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/59/29/29/59292955f470ae1674b7ef6cda028c19.jpg) . A throw rug for my bedroom; yes, the  [ oval one ](http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b102/gmabirdie/homespicelog.jpg) ; I only wear socks in bed during the winter, otherwise- cold feet is not the first thing I want to feel in the morning, aye. And an area rug for my couch and bench,  [ the pale red ](http://imagehost.vendio.com/a/35192037/aview/SP-153811.JPG) . Shoe rack and socks basket for guests; mm, and the socks too- all of them, I've no idea how small or large my guests might be.

Kitchen accoutrement- cast iron pan and cast iron pizza pan- I can use it as a griddle- spatulas, knives, spoons, forks, the wooden plates, mugs- and I’ll want those secured either in locking cabinets or on some kind of locking mechanism so they hang, aye? Good. Um… Oh! Porch furniture? Did I say that- no, I didn’t. Right, the wicker stuff- the table, I’ll keep- I know, it’s got the same style as a side table… Funny story, actually- a guy I knew in school built wicker furniture, and he got an order for side tables. The one I have; he got the dimensions for the table… I want to say reversed, but basically they’re entirely wrong. It’s supposed to look more like a drum or a spool of thread, not a cake pan or a spool of narrow ribbon- and it’s not supposed to be that big, either. It’s really light though- I can move it from the veranda to the dining room if it rains, and- yeah? Yeah, good. And those legless chairs too,  [ the folding ones ](http://image.dhgate.com/0x0/f2/albu/g1/M00/5F/48/rBVaGVV1E2CADRsYAABsYTRmIJo629.jpg) .

“Oh, and all the spinning wheels, and the spindles, and the distaffs, yes- even the hand-distaff ones that look like wands, all of them. All of them are being kept, and all the replacement whorls, and the knitting needles and the crochet needles and the big bone and wood needles and all the yarns. And the roving! I’m not selling any of that, no. Yeah, the big one’s called a great wheel, it’s for spinning really fine yarn-threads. The blue color is traditional in Fairisle- er, Faeland. Haha, yeah, it’s really  [ pretty ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/96/14/4d/96144df7a1e3a4717bfa50b408c67bf7.jpg) but  [ the brown one ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/7f/86/36/7f8636fb5ef237150b3c895848da7ef3.jpg) by the dress form- which I’m keeping as well, it’s useful for shirts and things- is better set-up for really really fine thread. Oh, there should be a box of different drives- yeah, the bat head is for basic spinning, the accelerating drive is for spinning thread- like loom thread. Oh, and the loom, it’s one of the fold up versions- yeah, I’m keeping that too. All the notions as well. Thank you.

“Mm- oh, shit, my old record player is broken… No, the soundbox is cracked, see? Yeah, if that happens is better sold for salvage than repaired, it’s like cracking the keel on a boat. The Dial-records are all okay though; don’t sell those. I can get a new one in town you think?

“Yes ma’am. It’s right by the green-Vearth square downtown, near the fountain? I go there all the time.”

“Cool! Mm- finish up, then show me there, if that’s alright?”

“Auh- y-yes ma’am.”

 

Oh dear. She’s very green- why did Conis give this greensprout me as a customer, I’m- not very fun to have as a customer in the moment, but… then again, that might be why Conis threw her at me. Conis, when she isn’t scared out of her mind, is a spectacular politician, in addition to being just uncommonly deadly at the helm of a Storm-engine. So. Little Aisha takes her time going through all my acquisitions from years past, places each sticker marking for sale and not for sale with extreme care. She’s extra careful of my jewelry box-looking Dial-records, marking it very clearly as not for sale.

 

We eventually go downtown; I pick up a  [ mini-record player ](https://okiyo.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/oki24-086.jpg) that has attachments for all standard sizes of Tone Dials, and a little suction-like attachment for Den Den Mushi. It's nice to be able to amplify your music, and there's a tonal quality that's lost in the nacre-coated shells when they're played as is.

I’ve still got the Bryony-special Brown Mushi in my belt pouch, along with my  [ mini-sewing kit ](http://www.gifts-show.com/upload/Image/Product/2009515/61175128175200951594512244006.jpg) and my new  [ coin purses ](http://so-sew-easy.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/Coin-purse-038-small.jpg) \- one for beri coins, one for folding money. I picked up a billfold that’s really one of three  [ utility hairclips ](https://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/s--eHn8c80r--/c_scale,fl_progressive,q_80,w_800/fu8y7xvqsl0vwzslijry.jpg) \- the ones that aren’t pinning my money together go into my ponytail, right between my hold-out hair combs. I’ll use the combs to pin back my bangs when I’m working. Er- or I would once I got my haircut? God, I’m still not quite used to linear time yet.

 

 

Little Aisha is a clerk from the auction house, and she’s very helpful in getting me a fair enough price for all the things I don’t want. Does she have self interest motivating her? Of course. Does that bother me as much as it might’ve? Nah. Now, I still feel grody- let’s see if the spa here can’t scrub some of the last few days off of me, or at least get the soot stank out of my hair.

So, different parts of the world have different specialties in their spas; Angel Island has a lock on different kinds of keratin treatments. It makes sense- if your wings are feather based, having a way to treat the keratin so it doesn’t go jagged on you is only for the best. This is probably one of the best places to get a hair treatment, if I’m getting one. I might as well- Also, get some more of the good kind of leather pants I like but barely have the patience to make for myself. More shoes too, before I need them. Shorts? Fuck it, shopping spree, why the hell not.

I’m- I’m not really one to consider how long my hair must have grown, during my disjointment from Time. There are various ways to consider it- either I was gone for a week, or I was gone for six weeks; but according to my hair, I was gone for nearly a year. Or at least, once the hairdresser is done with the brushing and the deep conditioning and the various treatments to make my hair- and my nails- lustrous and strong and easy to manage, it is. When I see myself in the mirror for the first time, I beg for a change to the fringe- I look far too much like Mama Rouge and I‘m not her,  **_I’m not her, (Mother, I'm not her! Ai! Ai! It hurts!)_ ** part it some way that isn’t down the middle, please. The style I pick is very old-fashioned- but then, so am I. So, it’s only right. Besides- I think I look pretty cute, with my hair all pulled back in it’s deceptively loose curls, and nevermind if I look like Morgan. I mean- she was my mother, after all. They both were- but Rouge was the one who made my mother almost vomit from anguish every time she came up, so no, thank you, I’d rather not look like her if I can help it.

 

**_(I’m not her, Mother, I'm not her- Ai! Ai! It hurts! Ai Mommy stop-)_ **

 

[ No. I look nothing like Rouge at all, now. ](http://img.careforhair.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/Lucy-Liu-Wavy-Bob-Hairstyle.jpg)

 

I suppose I may take issue with the woman who chose a handful of hours with a man over a decade with my mother, but if that is so, that’s between myself and god, thank you. She was my mother, and she was mad, and now Morgan is dead and such things must, for my own sake, be left behind. Anger, hatred- the memory of pain- these are not useful emotions to be kept in preservation. I have other things to be enraged over, I don’t need to dwell on them or pick at them, or anything of the kind. I just have to- breathe. And let go. Life is all about letting go, for your sake as much as any others.

 

Ach, I’m crying. It hurts.

 

 

 

I stay a total of three days at Angel Island, taking in the sights, purchasing food and drink and supplies, clothing, another sketchbook for myself- I have two sketchbooks, my working sketchbook and my for fun sketchbook. I- I may have filled my for fun sketchbook with, um. Well. Sanji has very nice legs and they’d look very nice in a skirt, and um- lacey underthings- and um, he’d look good in leather, or latex, or naked, or- WELL ANYWAY I need a new sketchbook. Mmhm. Yep. And i-it’s mostly technical drawings anyway, lots of evocative sketches and then even more technical drawings because I’m definitely the kind of weirdo who wants to make all the costumes for my husband so that they aren’t costumes, they’re just clothes and costume store costumes are basically shit and I can do so much better and my husband deserves the best I can give him and- I. Is that weird? That’s a little weird, god I hope he doesn’t think that’s too weird.

I mean, we haven’t talked about it but… maybe we should?

 

(And if I occasionally burst into tears of- sorrow? Joy? Overwhelming? Well, if I do, it’s understandable- my mother is dead and she’s not coming back and I hated her and I loved her and she’s gone. She’s gone and she’s not coming back. Not this time.)

 

 

 

My  [ bedroom ](http://www.johnboattours.com/images/examples/houseboat/boat7.jpg) in the rebuilt… well, she can’t be called the  _ Fulmarine Tern _ anymore, her engine, her keel, her hull, her deck- everything is bigger, better, faster, stronger, made of Adam Wood and spidersilk and bronze-sheathed steel for water resistance and strength.  _ Anyway. _

My bedroom is a narrow little thing, but considering they chopped it in half to give me a functional sewing room, I won’t complain. The bed is so comfortable, - and yet I’ve resigned myself to not sleeping well anywhere unless I’m dead tired or next to my husband.

I’ve got a [ tiny kitchenette ](http://www.digsdigs.com/photos/cute-small-kitchen-with-a-pegboard.jpg) , and where a fridge would be in most construction, I’ve got a freezer-chest, a little stacking planter set hanging suspended from the rafters, and a Skuan-special pot-in-pot refrigerator. Look, all I can really cook is vegetables and fish, and that’s fine- but, um, I’m more likely to eat fish raw or freeze it if I have too much or whatever. And the planter is really for kitchen herbs that taste better fresh anyway, so. And- it’s one thing to have a mechanized refrigerator and someone on hand who understands exactly how it works. I don’t understand how the mechanized refrigerator of the Lower Blues works, but I do understand how a pot-in-pot refrigerator works; it’s two clay pots in sand, and a watering can. Evaporation makes it go, so.

Um, Franky had already fit a water still and pump system into the boat, but he hadn’t finished the actual distilling system. However, Skuans have been finding ways to distill and store water since we left for the Sky- a bit before written history, honestly. I think? I mean- anyway, I have big shells full of freshwater, and these little… they look like stringers of kelp, but they’re really direct into the water distillation systems. The bobbers fill with basically pure sodium chloride- salt- which I express much like I would milk from a goat’s teat, while the big leafy looking part is actually a one-way membrane pouch that I can empty out into… honestly, the holding shells, if I'm understanding correctly. I've got seven stringers of them, so- that should work out nicely. The distiller is really meant for emergencies and cooking, really, the big shells are for washing and so on.

Um, I’ve got a snow-ice maker too- it’s just a collection of Dials in a rig, extraneous to the ones that run the stove? I- hm. Modern Skuan cooking isn’t really cooking at the highest level, it- well, the fancier restaurant version is called…  [ molecular gastronomy ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Molecular_gastronomy) ? Which is the investigation of the chemical nature of food, in ingredient and cooked form. Um- traditional Skuan cooking is… it’s a reflection of something like  [ 8000 years worth of cultural history and diversity ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indian_cuisine) ? Staples are legumes- er, lentils, then rice, fruits, dairy products- but not the meat, if I remember right- until the Cooley raid cows were sacred animals… I mean, in some parts of Skua they still are- wait, I’m getting sidetracked. Um- lentils rice fruits HONEY, honey’s been part of Skua since Before the Sky, dairy products, eggs, and whatever meat and such you can scrounge. Shit, no- no, I left the bees and doves because I need a garden and  _ Fulmarine Tern _ wasn’t big enough… But  _ Nautilus  _ **_is_ ** **,** dammit. FFfffuck. Dammit!

 

However, I have good friends- Conis delivers a massive order of something, has her workers install it all on my boat’s verandah. Suddenly, I have a tiny-large garden, with stone under my rug and thick Skuan grass for the quail to run around in, I have  [ quail ](http://natureniche.zenfolio.com/img/s/v-3/p85845474-3.jpg) and plantings of fruits and flowers and a farmer’s bench and it’s under a bower of roses and the nine purifying herbs  [ Lavender ](http://www.thompson-morgan.com/static-images/tandm/how-to-grow/lavender-pots.jpg) ,  [ Rosemary ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/c5/1e/c1/c51ec1cfc15cd7e58d4930fd9b4aea79.jpg) ,  [ Basil ](http://i0.wp.com/www.yougrowgirl.com/wp-content/uploads/basil_pot.jpg?resize=450%2C507) ,  [ Jasmine ](http://columbiacountymag.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/Confederate-Jasmine-4X6.jpeg) ,  [ Geraniums ](http://bloomiq.com/files/tiparticle_slides/taid63_5geraniums670x353ag.jpg) \- not Coffee, it needs special circumstances to grow and is actually best just purchased, but she brought an  [ airtight canister for beans ](https://www.claydesign.com/_img/wkiaSaJIUCXiWulrezulA/96233_Large-Coffee-Canister-9-Cups-with-Spoon.jpg) and  [ a grinder ](http://images.kovels.com/price_guide/technology/coffee_mills/coffee-mill-lane-bros-swift-mill-ca110312-0293.jpg) , Conis you absolute treasure- and flowering  [ Woodbine ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/f9/a6/27/f9a6278fa66f6a6880a293c93dbebc67.jpg) . And a hive of simple  [ Alabastanized Honey Bees ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Africanized_bee) \- oh, there was a splitting in the Young Queen’s hive, she took half her aunties and was set to flee, but- oh, oh she wants to stay, she- yes of course you can! Yay! Skuan Bees! Aaaaaaaaaah♥!

And she brought a crate of soaps and candles and  _ Conis you’re wonderful  _ **_you’re wonderful!_ ** Aah, crying again! Aaaaaaaaah!

 

Anyway.

 

I’m calling her, the boat I mean,  _ Nautilus _ \- and that’s  [ as much for her shape ](https://www.punnamada.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/01.jpg) which, when in the water is mostly sail, as it is for her ability to fully submerge, or even the fact that she’s almost entirely bulletproof. She’s a tough cookie. And  [ her eyes ](http://c8.alamy.com/comp/BT85AB/portugese-boat-painted-decoration-meia-lua-museum-exhibit-vessel-vessels-BT85AB.jpg) have some of the most massive eyebrows I’ve seen in my life. Skuan boats don’t have figureheads, not really- we just put eyes on so the klabautermann can see the water, give the boats names, and love them. Isn’t that enough? Of course,  _ Nautilus _ , being a Skuan boat, can still fully fly; all Skuan Boats have to be able to at least hydroplane. Since the advent of the Trouble Swarms, it's- it's important for maneuverability, I guess?

Anyway.

The last two days of my time on Angel Island are spent considering how to triangulate my crewmates positions; I need information from three places at once. The easiest way to do it would be if I could be in three places at one time… I- hm. Taffy calls her moves Ninja Spells… and for her, Kage Bunshin is an afterimage left by the saccade, it’s not actually a false being. But for me- I’d need a medium, something that’s indelibly mine to put my Shadow in. -Hair. In Skua, for Royals- like me- the hair is not kept by the hairdresser, but given to the Royal for disposal. I usually give mine to nesting birds or throw it in the sea- both of which ruin it for mystic arts and applications- but I haven’t done that yet. If I card it- yes, didn’t sell the carding brushes! I card it, and I’ll make a pair of dolls… Doll-pergangers? Yeaaaaaaaaaah!

So the first few dolls look- odd. Not quite right. I start getting  [ less representational ](http://fairyroom.com/WP/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/Joy_s_Doll_001.jpeg) and things start happening and then after- about four hours of trial and error, I’ve got two dolls that will work and several that won’t. I donate the dolls that won’t work to Conis, who mentioned founding an orphanage? I’m sure she’ll know what to do with them- they’re not coffins, those are the wooden dolls. Soft dolls are for comfort- and the ones that wouldn’t have worked for Dollpergangers have blank faces, as is proper for comfort-dolls. Doesn’t matter if they’re animal or Folk- Skuan comfort-dolls do not have faces, that would be presumptuous.

Focus on the little me’s- feels lopsided. If I take off their hair, boost with horse and wool- six, I need six total for seven with me. So- now that I’ve got the process down, four more dolls is a matter of hours- as in four hours, one per doll. Glossy feathers standing in for my own wings, carefully painted and cut pieces of silk like petals for skirts, and painted leather body, flowers on my knees and ribbons over my feet and my fingernails painted blue.

Testing, one two, testing, one two. Sound, check?

[ Sound, check. ](https://youtu.be/j05BHuCvzDU)

 

My new skill is sound. Now to use it as intended- I’ll find more uses for it as I go.  **Dollperganger: One-Two Beat!**

 

I stay where I am on deck, and I fly towards the rising moons, and I fly towards the stars and all of me feel for where Chopper is in relation to myself right then and put them all together- There, he’s there! Can’t land on that island proper, aim for the- sea nearby, got a heading.  **End Beat.**

 

The dolls fall into my hands, lifeless again. I place One and Two with their four sisters in my belt pouch. My boat is fully loaded, my clothing is in the process of washing, and… if I go now, I can probably visit everyone in… a bit less than two weeks? Yeah!

 

First stop! Chopper!


	2. 25:00; I'm Sorry

[What’s death like, you ask?](https://youtu.be/TauslIhFh7w) It’s like this- like you’re a piece of knitting, or crochet- yeah, crochet, crochet’s the one where the fabric’s made of slipknotted thread one thread continuing to knot through itself until a sleeve or a jumper or a scarf or a touk emerges and

Death is when you

get pulled apart

unravelled-

 

-torn apart cut in half and beheaded and you just-

 

For a long time, Mab was like the bouncer to Club Titania’s Mood Swings. People would come up to give me shit, and my sister would block the door and tell them that there was a cover, and when they asked how much that was, she’d tell them “fuck off dola and suck my clit centi.” I never appreciated that about her- never thanked her for that.

I should have.

She cut me in half, did you know? Tied my legs open so my dick would be flat to the floor and stretch far far in front of me and then she took an axe to me - _one, and two_ \- and my red blood spilled out and I screamed and moaned and sobbed and screamed and screamed and screamed as bugs thousands of bugs shoved themselves inside of the red weeping split in my body where my manhood once hung

-got to watch my gut distend and ripple and watch as a multitude of bugs squirmed and thrust inside of me of my flesh of my guts the straining burning tearing and disgusting pleasure as chitinous forms shoved through my bleeding asshole and writhed over my prostate

-couldn’t die she wouldn’t let me die shoved a gag in my mouth so I couldn’t bite down my jaw was held open no matter how I screamed and writhed and she watched me eyes glittering black and gold and brown as my body was fucked and consumed by her rage-fed swarm my intestines distending with round squirming shapes like bugs like eggs like- infestations-

And then I understood why her fury was so potent.

 

I raped my twin sister, who had cared for me. So, I looked up at her, and I apologized for raping her, through the gag- I know she heard me, and understood me. She said “Thank you for that, Titania.”

And then she raised my axe high and cut my head off and mercifully- mercifully, after that, my life was over.

My sister, Mab, is kind.

 

 

The point of this isn’t “apologizing will kill you.” It’s “passion will do you wonders.” That passion spurs motivation; motivation to **do,** motivation to **_be._ ** Even if that motivation is killing your rapist with his own weapon and infesting his still-living body with a horrific physical manifestation of your rage before finally ending his suffering; dishonoring his weapon and his life forever-more after the fact… even if that’s where your passion takes you, be glad of it.

Maybe your passion is cooking, or navigation, or swords, or building, or musical theatre, or juggling cats. My passions just happened to be the kind that really hurt people and ended with my death. I think that since most people view what I was passionate about- raping people, cutting them open while they were still living- I think since most people view those things as terrible crimes, it’s hard for them to imagine those actions carrying enough importance to pull someone out of a bottomless pit of dicks.

Because when I wasn’t raping my sister, or vivisecting a small animal- mostly cats, now that I think about it- when I wasn’t doing that, I was… I was drowning, on dry land. It- it hurt to breathe, sometimes; sounds stupid, I know- but it really did hurt to breathe.

I took summer school classes between my sophomore and junior year of college, because why pay attention in class during the regular year when you have rap lyrics to write? I was supposed to get a roommate, but he never showed up. So, having the entire dorm room to myself, I created a biological preserve for pizza and rape. "Pizza and rape" is what druids will chant when I am inevitably resurrected in some kind of doomsday blood ritual, and I couldn't be happier with that fact. I've done the calculations, and I've spent about six months of my life on rape.

Raping Mab, specifically.

 

She’s so beautiful, it’s- it’s hard to explain how beautiful she is. The freckles, the nose, the lips, the way her squishy, puffy titties bounce when you thrust into her when she’s all tied up and open to the headboard and the bedframe and drugged unconscious- hahahaha, she’s _magnificent_ . The shape of her ass is akin to a peach; the way her legs stretch down from that ass, the exact shape of her ankles and calves and the way her toes bend forwards and back- _glorious._ Her pussy’s cute too, all puffy and pink and covered over in thick black hair; I used to just watch my dick sliding in and out of her slippery hole, watch the bulging of her womb and the way her whole breathing pattern would change as I thrust.

Good god, I loved to watch her thrash in her sleep as an orgasm would overtake her and her asshole would jump and sputter and her whole upper body would twist and squirm; her hands and feet would turn black and shining, and her titties would flop everywhere and her voice- her voice, her beautiful, smokey voice- it would rasp and screech in an unconscious moan, sweat making her face shine.

I’d stuff her full of my dick and my cum, every day for six months- while she slept, naturally. Sneak her out of her bed, sneak her into mine; thrust into every hole I wanted, but mostly her pussy. Mab’s pussy was a goddamn delight.

Then she fell pregnant- and. I guess you know the rest.

I mostly regret that… I got caught. I was careless, and I got caught. I fucked a baby into my sister’s belly; and then she killed me by fucking maggots into mine. And then she killed the baby, too, and let maggots and such crawl all over it’s face.

Mab’s real kind to everyone- except herself.

Why else do you think they call her the Queen of Maggots? It’s not a “nice” name, y’know. It’s a funny, shitty way of saying what everyone’s thinking in Faeland when they see her- Murderer. Kinslayer.

I mean, everyone knows why, too- but you hear “Oh she killed her brother and son”; you don’t really want to know more details than that, do you?

 

-she killed me she killed me and I’m free, now- I don’t have to be a monster anymore. I don’t have to wait and let other people tell me what to do, I can just- leave. I can leave and never come back, I don’t- I’m.

Sorry.

I’m sorry I hurt my sister Mab like that. It felt good, but- I didn’t realize I was hurting her. I’m sorry.

 

She finally managed to save me; she only had to rape me to do it!

 

My last little joke, on Mab.

 

Not actually funny, looking back on it.

 

* * *

 

You will meet your tall dark brother and he will fuck your shit up.

We don’t know why, some kind of cosmic joke.

It is terrifying how little you will be able to control yourself upon your Fated meeting.

Your duties will go untended.

There will be flies in his mouth.

A smile will insist on flirting with your lips.

Blood will be on your hands.

Too much of a good thing will chew you up and swallow you whole.

The moons are in your House and have nothing to say about all your nonsense.

Now may be a good time to go on a long journey.

The stars think you need to clear your head.

The stars think you need to run.

The stars think you should have gone to Sea a long time ago.

 

* * *

 

Before I go too far away, let me state the Seven Laws. It’s some of the last of anything I remember- last of anything at all. The Laws of the Sky number Seven, and they are thus:

 

An’ it was Promised, all that live must one day die.

Remember the creation of the world, and all in it is holy.

Praise and give thanks for all the creations of the world.

Do not Murder.

Do not Rape.

Do not Steal.

Keep thy Word, as it is given.

 

Seven Laws. Break those Laws, and you're gonna have a very Bad Time.

Of course- there are times when you must break the Law, for the safety of yourself or another who cannot come to their own defense. It’s Wrong to break the Law- but sometimes, you have to. But- you have to remember.

If you break the Law, and you know you’ve broken the Law, then know this: you might not be forgiven for the breaking.

 

Practically speaking, it is agreed that there are levels of breaking the Law.

Kostecki the Deathless broke the Law by becoming Deathless (as he could not be killed except under specific, nearly impossible circumstances), but he didn’t break that Law Absolute by becoming Undying.

Not knowing the method by which the world was created due to ignorance is one thing; knowingly spitting on the sacrifices of those who came before us is quite another.

Not saying “thank you for the meal” before eating is poor manners; slaughtering every animal in a specie to extinction is an Affront to God.

Death is a Transformation; Murder is Wrong.

Bad Sex is when you or your partner don’t know what the hell you’re doing and you don’t know how to tell them what to do- or you’re both too drunk to really care (it’s not necessarily illegal, it’s just disappointing); Rape has to do with power, not sex at all (and is definitely Illegal). Knowing what I know now- I know I raped Mab, and I know she did not appreciate my advances and I’m sorry.

Stealing food from a field and eating it then and there because you’re hungry is forgivable; stealing a farmer's livelihood, their only horse or draft animal or cart, is Theft Absolute and unforgivable.

Honor is binding; if you can’t be trusted, you have no place in the group, society, or country (all of which are built on one another).

 

Breaking the Law is Wrong. But if you have to break the Law, remember that you might not be forgiven for it.

 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

You’ll never forgive me and you’re right to and I’m sorry anyway.

My last memory is this: You killed a monster and in the last six seconds of my life you began to weep. I understand, now- you weren’t crying with relief, or overwrought joy.

You cried because you couldn’t save me.

 

(He didn’t hate you; Puck didn’t hate you. And you didn’t hate him, not once. How is that possible? I don’t understand. I hated you- god, how I hated you- but you didn’t hate me, not even once. Not even when you killed me.

How?

How are you so much stronger than me when you weren’t even wanted?

How?)

 

I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you save me, Mab.

I’m sorry I made you try.

The last thing I remember is making my sister cry.

I’ll never forgive myself.

I’m sorry, Mab.


	3. 01:00; Cold Medicine

Sleep went not well. Considering the merits of sedatives. No, need to wake up when danger calls. Invest in Coffee beans, pre-roasted if possible. Can roast if not.

 

I hate to say it, but I don’t really know Chopper very well; knowing the shape of someone’s shadow is not the same as knowing who they are. We don’t often interact in the course of being crewmates; I don’t get sick very often, and what few injuries I get are usually handled by a few shots. I mean- he gives me a lot of tetanus shots- or he did before I got new sewing machine needles, and even though I usually don’t sew my fingers together anymore… hm.

Well, we’ll get to know each other a bit better over the next two years, right? Hm. Well- what do I know for sure about him? He’s a bit naive, and slowly becoming more confident as he learns more about what it means to be human, or at least what it means for him to be human. I actually suggested he go on a friendship date with Bryony, he’s the one who went for a full on semi-romantic date. Considering what he’s made of- reindeer, human, young, doctor- his first instinct is always going to be a rush of mistrust when faced with a stranger. He’s very strong, but I don’t think he really believes in his own power yet; this training furlough could be good for him.

He’s an upright friend, stout companion, and spectacular doctor- his bedside manner is warm, and… I suppose in the Low Blues, nursing and doctoring are sort of combined? Or they are for pirates, at least…

 

As the sun rises,  [ an enormous tree island comes into view on the horizon ](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/1/14/Torino_Kingdom_Infobox.png/revision/latest?cb=20091001232501) . AW FUCK THOSE ARE GREENWING EAGLES, NOPE NOPE NOPE DIVING NOW- Sit on the wheelbench. Set “dive” switch, engage aeration mechanisms. Diving in three, two one- spoosh. Engaging lights; radar; propulsion. Sonar picks up several obstructions, a rocky area, a rocky cove- aha, somewhere I can surface the enemy-eagles can’t get me! Yes!

Nautilus surfaces; I run through the surfacing procedure. From the outside, it looks a bit like some kind of egg-shaped animal rising from the water and shaka-shaka-shaking the water off. Charming dried-grass colored spars and rose-toned sails wiggle to the touch of various levers and rotation-knobs, and finally I set them in the “rest” position because I’m here, I’m here- that sounds like Chopper giggling with glee and I’m here!

 

Take  [ a basket ](https://smhttp-ssl-21049.nexcesscdn.net/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/350x/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/p/i/picnic-time-picnic-basket-set-for-two-picadilly-16-in-202-19-114-2-popup.jpg) \- I was never quite sure what the hell to do with these; I’ve got like fourteen of them and they aren’t actually that big, but they aren’t picnic baskets, they’ve got a divider down the middle. I’m honestly not sure what the hell these were meant for, or why I have so many- I personally blame that wicker guy. I maybe had a crush on him? Or he had a crush on me? Point is, I have a shit ton of really nice wicker-things and no idea what to do with most… of… them…

Hm.

I’m going to talk to Chopper about this, he’s the doctor- he might have insight into mental health I don’t. And since I really don’t want to be eaten by Greenwing Eagles today, I’ll approach on foot.

 

I pull on new Skuan flighter shoes; lace ups that go to a bit below my ankle and have ratings for all Skuan terrain which ranges from desert to swamp to bare stone mountain to deep deep underwater; they’ll keep my feet protected. They also have more than a passing resemblance to  [ sweet-watermelon slices ](https://cdn1.thehunt.com/app/public/system/zine_images/170853/original/3dd019da8b1ce08d0fa850688d77fc29.jpg) . I’m wearing all-gender pants in the  [ adjustable style ](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=50967320) , belted down close to my skin- I might adjust them looser, depending on how humid it is. My shirt is a simple  [ brown backless number ](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB14LjMOFXXXXbiaFXXq6xXFXXXo/Women-T-font-b-Shirt-b-font-2017-Sexy-Lace-Splicing-T-font-b-Shirt-b.jpg) ; with my hair tied back and everything all arranged... The belt my mom made for me is actually a  [ two pouch ensemble ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/8d/28/a4/8d28a4af3b9d16d1c392521eb9d1761d.jpg) ; I’m keeping three of the Dollpergangers in each side. In one I’ve got my money purses, a sewing kit, a first aid kit, a period kit, a hand mirror, a firestarter, and  [ my woman’s knife ](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41-1e0xWQ0L.jpg) . Um, in my other pouch I’ve got three or four hankies, a deck of cards, a pea-whistle, a fork-spoon-chopstick set- I got a bunch of of those, actually, the red one’s for Sanji and I guess the sakura-blossom patterned one can be Choppers? Mine is the brown one, because that’s actually made of wood with a horn inner case? Whatever. Mine are in my belt pouch, and… I could make shave ice and bring him one? We could have shave ice together- er. Snow ice, I’m better at snow ice. Actually, I’m going to stop stalling and just go talk to him. (I know what kind of person Chopper is. When I had that breakdown before Skypeia, back at Jaya, my crewmates looked at me a little pityingly. They got past it eventually, but- they did; they looked at me like I was... Chopper didn’t. Chopper’s opinion of me didn’t change at all.)

With my spear in one hand and the basket in the other- Empty, but it could not be- I soon let the world rush by me, my long legs carrying me over under around cross stones neath branches leap streams and let the wings flap to increase the bound, and then- oh, I think I’ve heard of this kingdom. South Blue, Torino.

Chopper’s going to love it here, probably.

 

* * *

 

Oh my god this library is amazing. I’ve never been near such a large collection of books about my specific focus in medicine! Ah- Mab helped me a lot with defining my dream. I- I really admire her for her understanding of boundaries; she’s the one who taught me that a doctor doesn’t practice medicine alone. 

 

I guess- how did she explain it- it was something like “Medicine is the aggregate confluence of a million doctors and nurses and hedge witches and battlefields, all of them coming together to form a thing that looks at a person and can say “this is hurting you. Please let me help.” It’s not possible for one person to do everything a patient will need; that’s why doctors and nurses and so on exist.” She explained that if I really wanted to be the doctor that cured all disease, I needed to get better at my discipline of medicine; you need a tighter focus. “Captain has a plan for how to become the King,” she said. “So does Zoro.” she said. “The ones of us who are most serious about our Dreams have plans and goals that we work towards to make them happen. So. Think about how you can realistically make your dream happen.” she said.

 

She told me to look at what I was best at, think about what I really loved doing- and I realized that I love pharmacy. I love making medicine, making drugs and so on that can relieve pain, fight disease- That’s what I want to focus on.

 

 

There’s… there’s a story the does used to sigh when the stars were coldest. There’s a river in the sky, they said- and it was always clear they didn’t mean a real river, they were speaking metaphorically; there’s a different… I guess word? Word tense? One of those things you put at the end of words to make them mean slightly different things. Deer don’t really use words, but it’s hard to explain it in human terms without using-

 

The does sighed of a river alongside which one could find all the leaves of heaven, and from their cud could be spat the… there’s not a word for it. Panacea comes closest, but it’s not quite right either. There were clear distinctions between poultices and potions and just eating the herbs straight and I-

How do I…

Mab!

 

“MAB! MAB YOU’RE OKAY!”

“Ah- Chopper, easy, it’s alright! I’m alright. Hey- hi, hello, um- you, uh, you really want this hug, huh?”

“I MISSED YOU!”

“Okay.”

 

How to describe the quality of Mab’s hugs? She's big and warm smells like plants and warmth and fish; she smells like the backwoods and deep summer. And she hugs like- gentle, warm, as long as you need it. She reminds me of my mom. Blind to others faults until they start to hurt them- mom couldn’t see color, she said I smelled alright and didn’t care my nose was blue until the others started shunning me, said I had horns and legs and sense enough, what did it matter my nose was blue… 

 

“So uh. We can keep huggling, but I’ve got to go in about an hour-”

“-eeeh!”

“-because I haven’t seen Sanji in either one or six weeks. I got a bit unstuck from time for a while, so...”

“Ah! You need your contraceptive shot, then.”

“Yeah. I also have this-”

“-Picnic basket?”

“Actually, no. I was thinking- I’ve got these sweet new powers, and I can get stationery for you if you’d like, and you can write letters to the crew and get letters and. Uh. Mail? It’s a thing I can definitely do.”

“Wah! Really?!?”

“Hmhmhmhm. I mean, it’s not all that impressive, but- yeah, if you want me to, I can do that. Um. I can also make a snow treat for you?”

“Uh- The mail sounds like a great idea for the crew, but what do you mean by snow-treat?”

“-Like. I can’t spend much time, but… if you’re skill is in making medicine for the body-”

“-which it totally is, you were right to ask me-”

“-Hmhmhmhm, well. I tend to have better luck with making things for the mind. Since body, mind, and spirit are all interconnected- in healing one, you naturally allow the others to be healed as well. So… snow treat.”

“...Alright, Mab.”

“...Robin would probably break my fingers if I tried cooking in a library, so- oh, hey, did your duffle make it through okay-?”

“YES! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Come on, I’ll show you my apartment-”

 

I’ve changed from my small childlike form into a deer, my head heavy in Mab’s lap over the course of our conversation. At my offer, I stand and stretch into my liminal state- not quite as muscular for when I’m ready to fight, not quite as small as when I’m trying to be a doctor too hard- a relaxed state, where both parts of my humanity work together as  [ one being ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/2d/a8/d8/2da8d8c08be8d24fc24c8b75fe86fed6.jpg) .

 

 

Mab follows me back to my apartment; it’s a simple thing, a desk, a pallet where I sleep, a clerestory window in one wall to let the light in. My table is an old wire spool and a pair of fruit crates, and all my crockery definitely used to be gourds probably- they’ve all got handles on them like they were. Rice, tea carafe, sugar, grazing grass; kettle on the stove,  [ enameled skillet ](http://cdn-tp2.mozu.com/15653-24061/cms/24061/files/065e18ed-b53a-495e-a7c4-00d8f3fb0f84?max=1024) on a hook and  [ Norten oven ](http://cdn-tp2.mozu.com/15653-24061/cms/24061/files/eb93f70f-786e-47c1-934b-5c5e81926404?max=400) on the stove and a shelf full of cookbooks and a magnetic rack of reasonably good knives, I'm not Sanji.

These apartments are communal-style living; there’s a bathhouse in the front of this block, and the fountain in the courtyard is where everyone does their washing. Downhill is the outhouses; it’s a full water treatment system, and really sophisticated too.

 

Mab and I go through a fruit market on the way to my place; she buys fresh straw-berries, kiwis, sweet red beans in a reusable tub; all of which gets put in what she says isn’t a picnic basket. Condensed milk? And sweet rice cakes, too.

We get back to my place- there on my table is the letter she included in my duffle, her clean handwriting spelling out what Captain had decided to do, and what she’d decided to do- Mab’s going to spend the two weeks after New Year’s going to us one by one and making sure we’re all okay where we are and have everything we can feasibly have from our ship. Then, for two years (counting from this New Year's), we’ve all got orders to train however we can to get ready for the New World. At the end of those two year's, we have two weeks grace to get to Sabaody however we can. Mab wrote a note saying she’d be happy to ferry people, but she’d need advance notice to ensure there was enough room on her boat. There’s also a little side note that says Paradise is the Skuan vacation destination, and Mab isn’t ready for the New World? And the News Coo said that the Queen of Fairies stole a whole mountain and… it’s been a strange week.

 

Mab takes in my apartment; the seventh floor walkup, the sparse decor. Mab hums softly, sets the picnic basket onto the table and takes out more than she put in. She takes a bowl, puts sweet beans in the bottom and covers them with snow; slices things with her own black claws and places them just so. It smells- like home. It smells like home.

 

 

“Here. Have some, tell me how you like it.”

“Mmm! Oh wow this is good! Ah- when you're done, I’ll finish it and give you your shots, alright?”

“Thank you, Doctor Chopper.”

“FUCK YOU, using my professional title so formally doesn’t make me feel accomplished and special! Wait- no, no that’s a lie. Actually, hearing you call me a doctor- it does make me happy, thank you Mab.”

“Hm, remembered the exercise I gave you, huh.”

“Yeah. Skepticism and outright lying to myself aren’t the same at all.”

“No, they aren’t. Now- I don’t know if the phones Bryony made for us work across islands, but… she’s the only one with the baffler, so. I’d rely on written correspondence; I’m going to mark the inside of this basket’s compartments, so one side is outbound and one side is inbound.”

Mab tied a ribbon to the basket’s handle, suspended the basket by one of the exposed rafters. It’s low enough that I could stand on one of the fruit boxes and get into either side. Another ribbon went on one side, away from the door- that must be the inbound one.

Then, she set one of my bowls on the table, took Dials in one hand and poured it full of snow. It was the soft, powdery kind that falls sometimes, light and fluffy, covered it in slices of fruit.  [ Mostly strawberries. ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/09/4c/b7/094cb79eebeda6be6fd2466bb27abb87.jpg)

I've had this before, back when we left Floria: It tasted like spring snows and the color pink, like… like being hugged by my mom. Mab called it mind-medicine. Said it'd help.

It tasted like mom’s hugs. Mom didn’t actually hug me, because reindeer don’t have arms but… that’s the feeling. It was really more like a nuzzle, that I got from mom. She never cared about what I wasn’t; and she taught me everything she could about herbs and mushrooms, fungi and moss. Mom didn’t actually know all that much- I was supposed to learn from the herd Does but… they **did** care about my nose-color. They cared so much the head Doe nearly tore my eye out with her horns. (All reindeer have horns, you see, but the Does get theirs later in the year, lose them with the summer sun.)

Mom protected me from her; that’s how the Laphans got her eventually, she lost an eye protecting me. And she told me that… it was always her choice to by my mother, she was always proud to be my mother. It was her solemn privilege to protect and care for me, as long as she could.

Moms are kind of amazing.

 

 

 

I give Mab her shot, give her another hug before she goes. I finish my mind-medicine direct from Mab; the taste is clean and cold and bright, like sun on fresh-fallen snow, like sakura petals in the wind. Like strawberries.

Mab is kind of amazing. 

She leaves with the tolling of the noon hour; a bird-shadow passes by and she's gone from my sight.

 

I’ve got work to do.


	4. 13:00; Sparrow, Sparrow- Where do you nest?

My sister Mab has been stronger than me for as long as I’ve been alive. It’s hard to quantify in terms of- oh, she punches harder, well no. I punch harder. Or is it oh, she’s faster on foot. No, I am.

Mab is stronger because she loved our mother- I know she did, she loved our mother Morgan, and when the time came for her to meet our mother Morgan in battle Mab never hesitated. I had so many opportunities to kill Morgan; I had so many chances. But- I couldn’t do it. And Mab could.

Mab killed Morgan. I don’t know how to feel about that. For the next seven months, Mab isn’t allowed to set foot on our home island- but. She killed my tormenter, and she killed my abuser, and she killed my queen, and she killed my mother and I- couldn’t. Cold comfort, hot wind. Rise up, I was living on my knees so rise up-

I don’t-

I-

I’m the one who asked her to set up the family band practices again. When we were young, we’d play together- me and Mab, I mean, and what with there being such a musical tradition on Fairisle, I don’t doubt that Mab and the littles played together too.

 

It’s funny- my sister can handle an astonishing number of details, all of which build up into one big tangle- but some things slip her notice.

For example- she remembered that the only person I’d trust to crew a _ rivage, _ which is comparable in size to Moby Dick in a day or less is Trafalgar Lami; that woman is my First division commander, my first mate, and the person I asked to… She remembered, even, that Ace wouldn’t know how to sail the boat she built for him.

Well. Mab remembered all that. She remembered that Moda and Ace needed quiet time to talk to each other. She even remembered that Aunt Ravelle would want to meet Ace herself.

 

She didn’t remember that Moda’s my Fourth division commander; I cannot just let her go off and join the Whitebeards, much as I might want to. She  _ doesn’t _ want to, for one; for another, she’s got an important job in my crew as it is. The Sargasso is a massive sky-docking area, heavily defended and good to base crew maneuvering out of. With her kids fully here, it’s better for her- at least for the next few years- to be in one place. Her crew is of more use to me where they are; and I know with her standing in Fishman Island being precarious as it is, having another area in which she can live freely is probably for the best. With that said, she’s been very clear about including the sire of her babies, my brother Ace, in their raising- if he’s amenable to the prospect, which he is. All to the good, to my mind; Ace is already doing much better than Roger ever managed as a sire. He might even become a fauna, in the fullness of time.

She didn’t remember that she didn’t name Ace’s boat whatever she told Lami- she named it  _ Wild Card Bend _ , which is a much more fitting name. She also didn’t remember that, even if she wanted to give Ace his boat, he couldn’t possibly crew her; Moda’s crew could, however.  _ Starbuck _ , with the mermaid of stars at her bow, is a Skuan ship; and Moda’s crew, ragtag as they are, know the business of sailing it. Moda’s crew is mostly sailors and fishers, with a core group of gardeners. Being Skuan, her crew learned to sail and fight at the same time- and, being in charge of the Sargasso sky-dock is way more Moda’s speed, now that she doesn’t have to find Ace.

Moda’s kind of amazing.

 

She’s also the one who gave me the idea for how to manage keeping close to the Whitebeards without actually joining them- because, you see, I want to be a Yonko, one of the Four Great Sealords. I can’t in good conscious, join up with Whitebeard and be planning to become a Yonko. That’s- dirty. 

However, I’m also not one to deny the fact that my Fourth Commander ought to spend time with- and she’s a good teacher. Which is how the alliance with Whitebeard came about; the terms?

Moda would spend- eh, half the year with Ace’s crew, and then Ace would spend half the year with ours. They’d bring crews of their own, of course, but- Moda would teach Ace to sail a Skuan ship, Ace would teach Moda to be a pirate. Seemed a Fair trade to me, considering that wasn’t the point of the deal at all.

Whitebeard hummed when he made the deal with me, but I did bring up some good points, I think.

I mean- Ace seems to want to be around to raise his kids, and I’m willing to find a way to make that happen. I swore when I became- well, when they started calling me Captain, I swore I’d look after them as best I could. They follow me, so I have to lead. Moda wants to raise her kids with the man who helped make them, okay, fine; and… My dream is something that’s going to end up happening if I just live long enough.

Considering what my crew is like- Moda’s already made herself a shallow Sea archipelago base, Perona stole all the children and slaves of the now destroyed Mariejois, and Lami is a nun. Lami is actually the Mother Superior of her particular sect of the kung fu nuns she’s a part of, and basically her entire crew is part of her monastic order. She’s going to start an actual monastery at some point, or possibly a hospital. Probably both, knowing her.

And they all follow  _ me _ . So. The Whitebeards and the rest of the Yonko mostly carved out space in the New World to keep track of- fine.

But with Mariejois Sunk, Wrecked- Keel-hauled into a Hurricane- the Marines don’t really have any funding, right now. (Morgans own the banks; we’re in the same spot. We got more than we gave and we wanted what we got.) So. Paradise needs looking after; and… Well. Honestly, my crewmates don’t really want to go to the New World? None of us are after the Legacy of the Old Pirate King- least of all me- so.

We’re just gonna be traders, instead.

 

Anyway- when I told Mab I wanted to start playing music together with everyone she talked to all our siblings. Ace said he’d be cool with hosting it, as the Moby Dick has a gigantic Music Hall that almost never gets used because the Whitebeards almost never have enough good musicians in one place for it to be used. This is a filthy lie, and we all know it, but it was kind of him to offer.

 

Mab actually stopped by before everything to- cajole me into even going to family band practice. I- when I was… changed… I put my violin into the care of Mab. After her dorm burned down, I would have sworn my violin was at the very least ruined. Mab’s kind of amazing though; she ensured that under no circumstances would my violin be destroyed by putting it into the care of my Third Commander, Perona Clyde. Morgan had dominion over all of Skua, but Floria is a realm apart; and Morgan could not touch her.

I haven’t played in years; Morgan’s child would not be a Nokken, she wouldn’t allow such- frivolity. She called music frivolity, did Morgan.

 

For Skuans, there is nothing less frivolous than music; it’s… it’s fun, and joyful, and playful. But it’s not  _ for _ fun. We don’t play music just to play music- or at least, I never did. Mab doesn’t either- it’s… it’s holy. And the music that always plays in Fairisle- it’s… every moment is holy, every thing and every being within the world is holy, holy, holy- as far as the eye can behold it, the world is holy, wholly, holy. Every note in a song is a prayer; every mote of light, benediction. There is nothing in this world that isn’t holy, wholly, holy.

This world was made out of love; goddesses and pure concepts came together, and their work is wholly holy. Every moment- not just the ones we see, not just the ones we remember, all of them- holy.

Down Below, they might call it prayer. But- Mab’s a wonderful musician. She is. And she was not singing when she fought Akainu, she was praying. She’s never considered herself a musician- down Below, she could be, but Above? No.

Musicians in Skua serve a higher purpose. Mab is not a musician- she plays, she sings, she’s incredibly good at some of the traditional arts (magic, you know), but she is not a musician. In all honesty, even though I studied and graduated from the Skuan Musica Seminary, I’m not a practicing musician either.

 

Mab knew she couldn’t really talk to me about what she’d done- about any of it. We might never be able to talk to each other about it. I shot my sister in the head and cut her wings off with a knife. She turned me into a transvestite woman and killed my mother. How in the fuck do you have a conversation about any of that?

Still. She asked entrance onto my ship when we were resting on the surface of the sea. She asked an audience of me, and I obliged. She set my- it couldn’t have been. She opened it, laid out  [ my violin ](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41wZkA94s9L.jpg) in it’s red velvet. Then she took out her own brown violin, and started playing  [ a song I taught her ](https://youtu.be/uorGmVFwNQI) … and fucking it up until I picked up the violin and played with her. She’s.

My sister Mab is insistent.

 

And for the first time since we were very young indeed, we played- prayed- made music together. It was… It was amazing. I’d forgotten how much I can say to my sister without bothering with words.

I’d forgotten how good it feels to play.

 

* * *

 

So uh. I wasn’t expecting to make my brother cry by playing violin with him, but we ended up cuddling on his music couch for about an hour after we played together which was a little uncomfortable at the start but eventually became very nice. Comforting my older brother is something I really missed being allowed to do. It’s been nearly fifteen years, I’d say.

 

We ended up just curling up together. Spadey got tears and snot in my hair, but that’s alright; it’s actually pretty easy to wash my hair.

 

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“Oh god I hated her so much.”

“I hated all of them.”

“Mab, why- why didn’t you kill me?”

“...Everyone has a Line or two, Spadey. You’re one of mine.”

“Oh.”

“More importantly- we cannot bear to speak of anything important. Nothing of what happened- nothing that matters. So, until we can- we’ll just have to live.”

 

And that explains everything, I think. After that, Band Practice with the Family was just… something I did, every two weeks or so. Not all of us could attend every time- but sometimes we could. For two year's or so- and I talked to Captain about it eventually. I had to think about how to explain it- stumbled across prayer. Luffy said he’d like to come, if it was possible. I said I’d talk to the others about it; and they all said if I was bringing guests, they could too. So.

Sometimes it was Music with the Fam at Ace’s, and when Zoro finished his amphitheatre, it was on Kuraigana once… honestly, it was usually in Moby Dick’s slightly grody music room.

 

Anyway.

 

That first band practice, we didn’t really get around to playing music until the very end because, actually, Ace wasn’t making it up. The band room was  [ absolutely trashed ](http://www.sfgate.com/blogs/images/sfgate/parenting/2009/07/06/trashed330x222.jpg) \- the couch and chairs were shredded, and there was broken shit all over the floor. We set our instruments over where Ace had obviously been cleaning the most; it was the cleanest stretch of wall. Apparently, the crew of the Fourth Division had been using the room as an impromptu brawling area, in the absence of their commander. Not him- Ace’s crew under Whitebeard tends to use gambling and bets to settle shit, but the Fourth Division- who was under Commander Thatch, who was killed, and that’s why Ace is still figuring out how exactly he’s going to kill Blackbeard- used to fight with Thatch as an impartial arbiter? And with him gone… All this is according to Ace, I’m pretty sure he’s not lying- it wouldn’t occur to him to lie about something like this. My brother Ace is as Seelie as you can get without getting yourself killed.

Well.

The point is we were all scrubbing blood splatters out of walls for a few hours. Finally, we unearthed the miraculously intact piano.

 

 

Of us all, Ciconia- Sisko- is the best piano player; so it was her and me that actually played together, that first band practice. I guess photography lends itself to more than just flickery finger reflexes? Dunno.

I do know what song to sing, though.

 

“So, I’m going to do my thing and make the room all nice- but I need to concentrate pretty hard to do it right, so I’m going to sing. Sisko, would you play piano?”

“...if it’s tuned first, sure...” she said, digging out a piano tuning kit from one of her many skirt pockets.

 

Ciconia, lucky seventh-hatched, is a tall, stork-ish preteen. She has long black hair, rough like horsehair; keeps it in  [ a simple braid down her back ](https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5507/11671796885_a2a1e12b4d_b.jpg) . She has Rouge’s bedroom glare, Morgan’s pointy chin, and freckles- we all have freckles, but hers are just a touch more… more? It’s hard to explain.

She’s muscular, and sleek; her skin’s the same color as Ace’s with maybe a softer tan. Ace spends a lot of time outdoors working in the sun; so does Sisko, but hers is a more... wandering around the beach, looking in tidepools kind of tan, while Ace's has a more weatherbeaten, hanging onto rigging with no shirt kind of tan. So. Different, but hard to explain how just in terms of color.

She wears  [ heavy gumboots ](http://www.appliedsafety.net.au/productimages/NB8003.jpg) ,  [ asymmetrical print tights ](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1BrqgPFXXXXczXFXXq6xXFXXXF/Fashion-t-mandarin-duck-font-b-leopard-b-font-font-b-print-b-font-asymmetrical-pattern.jpg) , a  [ midi length denim utility skirt ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/0c/3e/5e/0c3e5e841731bda2c75378812a5b3809.jpg) , and an  [ argyle print sweater vest over a starched white shirt ](http://www.argylesweatervest.net/images/tommy-hilfiger-jocyln-argyle-sweater-vest.jpg) . She has looked like this for as long as she’s been allowed to dress herself; so… six years I think? Has a pair of sunglasses-  [ sun goggles ](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1NxBNKFXXXXbGaXXXq6xXFXXXL/2016-Metal-Frame-Sunglasses-Women-Steampunk-font-b-Goggles-b-font-font-b-Sun-b-font.jpg) , actually, that rest on the crown of her head when she's indoors and over her eyes when she's outside, which- isn't new. The goggles are new, but her habit of rigorously controlling the amount of light that goes into her eyes is not new at all. 

Or rather- her off-duty clothing isn’t new at all. I assume she’s not wearing the school uniform anymore… so really, her work clothes could be anything.

 

She’s… let me see… all the Littles are the same age… I was… nine when I stole them… eleven years- no, twelve. They’re all twelve-ish. Hatch-grown children have weird growth patterns; for all that they were conceived before I was, my little sisters are still younger than me by eight or so years and it shows; don’t let their nearly adult height fool you. 

All the Littles are a head shorter than Spadey and Ace, and two shorter than me. I am tall.

Anyway, Sisko. (I give people nicknames. It’s a thing I do.)

Sisko plays piano; any tap-tap instrument she’s good with, marimba, glockenspiel, dulcimer- the kind with the curvy sticks you tap the strings with- but pianos tend to be most common, so that’s what she has the most practice with. After a jangly moment where Sisko’s arm deep in the echoing guts of a piano, she pops back out of it, her arms smeared with dust. I give her a damp hanky, which she wipes herself down with, then the piano with. She adjusts the bench, plays a lovely glissando on the piano’s lightly beaten up keys. Stops, rubs her fingers together, and wipes the keys down with a grimace.

 

I wait for her to acquaint herself with the upright piano.

 

“ [ Take Me To Church ](https://youtu.be/9C0xGB73Uuc) ; ready when you are, Sisko.”

“...yeah, hang on. Hm-hm-hmhm- okay. ready…”

 

And then we play together. By the end of the song, I’ve got eight younger sisters staring at me with sparkling eyes- Sisko closes her eyes to play, or it'd probably be nine- two older brothers looking at each other and then at me like “did she really just-?” and a room full of cleaned and refinished and restrung furniture. Oh, and a bunch of pirates staring around the door. Devil Fruit bullshit, know how, and straight up musical magic. Amen, amen, amen, amen.

I toss my hair, walk daintily over to the  [ very comfortable claw foot couch ](http://www.graindesigners.com/images-cdn/2015/12/01/ball-and-claw-foot-antique-sofa-ball-and-claw-foot-chairs.jpg) , obviously meant for someone with a much bigger ass; probably Ol’ Whitestache himself. I hum a bit sharper at it; it straightens up and the piling of the pink velvety surface rustles into something approaching loveliness. Begrudgingly, I sit. Not quite to my standards yet, but I can fix that too. Hmmph.

Pin my hair out of my face, then pin my bangs back. Oh god that’s nice. Fuck hair in my face, man, seriously. Also, I was right, this couch is ludicrously nice on the ass, oh my god.

The other chairs are kind of…  [ grody ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/54/95/e4/5495e46c123da5897a965ab6721d88c2.jpg) . I couldn’t change everything. Oh, there’s a working drum kit, that’ll make Felix happy… I need to restring my pipa-

 

Ace spent the last of that day’s hours hanging out, sniggering at our sister’s antics, and farting around on an  [ old guitar ](http://images.gibson.com/Products/Acoustic-Guitars/2014/Hummingbird-Quilt/Gallery-Images/SSHBQCGH1-Glam-Shot.jpg) . I’ve seen it before, and so has Spadey- that’s Roger’s old guitar, one of them at least. And he plays like it was built for him, like he was made for it.

 

So, that’s going to be interesting later on.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Thus it was that the Nine Daughters of Rouge, Roger, and Morgan; The Captain of the Sparrow Pirates; The Whitebeard’s Second Division Commander; and The Straw Hat’s Professional Witch played the meat of days away. They used the music room of the Moby Dick for it’s intended purpose, perhaps for the first time in twenty years, just as their progenitors had before them. Time does run in spirals, after all; twenty years ago, Roger, Rouge, and Morgan partied in the music room, just themselves and with their friends too. The Land-song in Shell had to be recorded somewhere, after all.

 

This is what the last living children of the Three Sparrows would do for two years to get to know each other- not just as siblings, but as people, too.


	5. 12:00; Cindret's Fairy Knight

 

I leave Chopper in the shadow of the passing of great wings. Fuck Greengles. Holy shit, no.

 

I spend the next few days visiting each member of our crew in turn. I mean; I need to wait a few days to let the medicine set in, and I want to have so much sex with Sanji we both pass out. I- I’m not really ready for children yet. Still not really ready. Ah-anyway, considering the very real possibility of muscle strain after we’re together, it’s best to leave that for after I check on everyone else.

So, in order- Nami Zoro Usopp Luffy Franky Brook Robin- who got her duffle and an explanation in person, and a hug, and a really hot bath which she enjoyed immensely- Bryony Taffeta Mark and I’m done. Everyone knows what they’re doing; we all understand that we’ve got the next two years to train as hard as we can. Mostly I checked on Luffy to make sure he got all his stuff and- well, he’s got a reading list Robin made for him- NEVERMIND THAT SHIT, SANJI IS WAITING FOR ME.

Um- I mean. So.

I’m going to finish the two week’s Grace with Sanji.

Then I’ll have to start training.

But first- Sanji.

I haven’t seen him in days.

 

With the rising of the sun comes a boat like a shell, the Wandering Houseboat, Nautilus! over the wine-dark sea. I added an exclamation point, she asked for it specifically. When Captain saw my houseboat, he sort of… giggled? Anyway.

On the horizon, a bright pink Island- oh no. Oh noooo. No no no.

It’s Momoiro Island. I don’t want to crossdress, I like my feminine outfits… but I also want to get to Sanji as quickly as I can. Hnngh.

Okay, I know for sure I can wear the graduation jacket without a problem, it’s built on more masculine lines. Actually- if I’m wearing the jacket, I might as well wear the rest of the uniform- I don’t fill it out in the shoulders as much as I should, but I did lose a lot of muscle mass.

So.

 

Black linen neck stock, standard white muslin work shirt with the Fae modification, off-tan trousers in the heavy leather, and [ long shank boots ](http://cdnll.doversaddlery.com/images/xl/0380209.jpg) of the flighter’s variety. Standard nutmeg colored brown waistcoat with dark horn buttons. The belt, my accoutrement of things- dollpergangers, excetera- the jacket over all. I don’t actually need to access my belt-pouches to get at any of my things. Pack Sanji’s [ monogrammed knife roll ](https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/enhanced/webdr03/2013/6/25/10/enhanced-buzz-28680-1372171141-9.jpg) into the blue and brown purse, clip a heavy-duty carry strap to the purse-body. Consider what I know about Momoiro, and the colony of Newkama Kenpo practitioners that live on it. Consider what they’re likely to dress my beautiful husband in.

Yeah, there’s no way in hell I can go find him without bringing him a change of clothing that will actually flatter his figure and also preserve his modesty. Clothing he’ll like -somewhere on this island, someone has put my husband in clothing he doesn’t like and shoes that hurt his feet and I won’t have it, I won’t be having with it.

I am too good a sewing professional to let my husband run around in shitty clothes, I won’t stand for it.

(Someone, somewhere, has disappointed me. I’m going to find them, and kick their fucking ass.)

 

So. Ignoring all my fetish-gear ideas- and it is fetish-gear I’ve mostly considered, I won’t lie- I pull a blue circle skirt, meant to ride low on my hips but it’ll cinch tight to his waist, and… loose white sweater. Mhm. Put the clothes on the dressform, pull the bench out, and consider options. Fuck this, just- close one eye reach out and-

 

 

_ Hey. _

_ Hey! _

_ Busy? _

_ Sparring- just a moment. _

_ Okay. _

 

 

 

_ What’s up? _

_ Look at this. _

_...it’s a skirt and sweater. _

_ It’s nicer than what you’re wearing, love. _

_!!!!! _

_ Hey. It’s Momoiro Island. It’s World famous. Anyway, I’ve seen you naked and bare already; I Know who you are. You Know me, too- and when we have a moment, maybe you should take a look in my other sketchbook. _

_ Um. _

_...U-unless you already have? _

_ Well. I mean. You’re… not subtle when you watch my ass? And. Um. I kinda really liked the lacy numbers. _

_ You have the best ass, Sanji. The lacey ones with the garter belts and stockings, or just the  _ [ _ underwear… _ ](https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/2015-08/17/14/enhanced/webdr07/enhanced-23340-1439835981-1.jpg) _? _

_...yes. -You have a very nice ass, Mab! _

_ -Yours is better. So, um. Well. I can’t make what I don’t know is wanted, I’m- I’m not a mindreader. Or I am, I just… I have ethical Lines I won’t cross just for my own satisfaction, that’s… No. _

_ Sure. I mean- I. U-um. Mm. I- I can feel how much you like making clothes, and, um. The lacy things weren’t the only thing I liked… -Your ass is still nicer! _

_ -You make the nicest squeaking noises when I bite it! -O-oh? _

_ -And you don’t?- Yeah, um. I like- I liked the sweaters, and um. Cute patterns. _

_ Oh. _

_ And the pencil skirts. D-does my butt really- _

_ YES! _

_ Ah. It’s completely wrong for my fighting style- _

_ N-not really meant for fighting in, so- _

_ But. Um. It could be… for fun? Maybe? _

_ That’s what I had in mind. I mean. If you’re okay with that…? _

_ Oh wow- uh. Y-yes, um. Oh yes. Uh- what’s the dress you have for me? I mean- I know you have a dress for me. So. _

_ Oh! Um. This one? I can bring a  _ [ _ pinafore _ ](https://img0.etsystatic.com/107/1/9802699/il_340x270.990411852_mtf0.jpg) _ , and a cardigan- I’ve got a skirt set too, I mean. If you don’t like those? I mean- you don’t really like showing your arms? A-and I have tights and shoes that don’t- oh your poor toes, you don’t put kicking specialists in pumps straight off the bat, that’s… that’s a stereotype, your feet- oh my love. Oh what have they done, what have they-? _

_ I- yeah. It- I don’t want to… I’m. I’m really uncomfortable here. Um. The- Caroline- they keep staring at my legs and I don’t like it, and my feet hurt so much, and- and I wish you were here. Oh god, Mab,  _ [ _ I wish you were here. _ ](https://youtu.be/K6mMmGIs53I)

_ -I’m going to pack up a change of clothes- I’m packing for you right now, and… Okay. It’s all packed. Close your eyes, Sanji. _

_ Mab? _

_ Trust me, my dear. _

_ I- Okay, honeybee. _

 

“Hey, Sanji. Open your eyes.” I say, opening mine.

 

He’s- got a lot of pink on his face it’s not the right pink it’s too- pale. Sparkle is alright but… he’s not comfortable. And weird shit in his hair, and oh god I missed him so much I’m- OH GOD THAT DRESS- Sanji’s poor feet in those pumps, his toes are so squished and- oh. Oh no. Sanji, Sanji in a dress, oh no- and he’s crying and hugging me in a silky pink dress and- I-

 

“Mab, you’re bleeding-! Oh. Oh!”

“Mmhmhm. I- I like you in a dress. But- maybe not this dress? But- Dress!”

“I can see that. Um. D’you have a hanky, or-”

“Yeah, hang on.”

 

I press a hanky to my nose, stem the tide of blood. Oh wow. Calm down, Mab. Calm it down. Woo. Holy shit I did not realize this fetish was so strong; even in quite possibly the most ugly infantilizing perverted wrong color dress I’ve ever seen, just the idea of my husband in a frilly skirt is making my nose gush the red-blood. This is stupid, this is a dumb way to die, pull it together Mab.

 

“Hey, I’m spending time with my wife now. Spar later?”

“EEEH, Sanji-boy is married?”

“Of course, why?”

“I see how it is, abandoning your sweet Caroline for some handsome young fling-”

**“MY WIFE IS STRONGER AND MORE FEARSOME THAN THE RESOUNDING SEA;**

**HER BEAUTY IS FIT TO SHAME THE SUN ERE IT RISES.**

**HER VOICE RAISED IN SONG WAKES THE SEASONS TO THEIR TURNING;**

**HER HANDS OUTSTRETCHED IN THEIR WORK BRING MIRACLES TO THE EARTH.**

**SPEAK OF HER AS ANYTHING LESS THAN WONDROUS, AND I’LL BREAK YOUR FUCKING JAW.”**

“Oh my.” says Sweet Caroline.

 

 

 

I’ve never heard Sanji yell like that. He tries really hard to never yell like that where I can hear; when we protect the ship, or fight off enemy crews, thrash baby bluebeaks, we… we sort of never mingle? I remember the storm by Long Ring Long Land because of the fact that we were in the same place when it started and ended, not just because of my injury. I get minor injuries pretty often at sea- mostly a bruise or two, the occasional scrape. Usually stitching my fingers together. Not so often, now that I’ve my wings again- but. Sanji… I heard him more often when I was right below him, he swears like it’s just punctuation- but not around me. Not around any woman, but especially not me. And it’s not like he hasn’t heard me swear, too.

And he yelled too, and he swore, and it was- it was about me. It was about me, he was defending me, and his interest in me. Oh my god.

 

“Come on, Mab.” says Sanji with his hand out to me.

“...” I nod and take his outstretched hand.

 

I’m too overwhelmed to speak, but I can’t take my eyes off of S-Sanji and he’s so- he’s so handsome, I’ve never seen any man so beautiful and handsome and I want to kiss him but I can’t seem to tear my hand away from my mouth, my dirty hanky went directly to the sink to soak oh, oh my god. Oh my god he said that out loud oh my god.

Am I crying? A l-little bit, but I’m also smiling so. Um. S-so. He- he really does love me. There’s no need to check he really does- oh his poor feet, Sanji, Sanji-

 

“Sanji, stop and put these on please, your feet-”

“What- oh, those are...”

“We have the same sized feet.”

“Oh thank god.”

 

He puts on the flats and immediately lines of pain in his face vanish. Oh, my dear. Oh my love.

 

“We’re not keeping those, just leave them and I love you and I’m not mad or offended and d’you have a place here or…?”

“Yeah, it’s this way. -oh god that feels good. Yeah- come on, it’s this way.”

“Um- I could give you a foot rub when we get there?”

“-?”

“I mean. If they really hurt that bad, I- I don’t like it when you’re hurting and I can’t help, so… So, um. I mean, I don’t think you want a full pedicure…”

“Um. I mean. I… I like it when you condition my body hair-”

“-that’s a fairly thinly veiled excuse to have sex, Sanji.”

“Well, I mean. It’s also nice to have softer body hair… I didn’t. I didn’t mean to yell like that in front of you.”

“...ah?”

“-My- _sire_ , my _sire_ would shout. He shouted at my _ounadam_ \- I hadn’t remembered it for years and years, but he did, you could hear him clear across the castle and she would scream back and I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being like that in front of you.”

“I’m not. It’s okay to get angry- but… I’d rather you get angry and tell me so, than just hold it in and let it fester. I don’t want a relationship built on… on not talking to each other, on ignoring things we shouldn’t.”

“We need to talk more seriously, don’t we?”

“I think so.”

“Alright. My place is right over here- through the back courtyard and up the stairs.”

“The top of the tower?”

“It seemed fitting; where else would you put a Prince to be rescued by a Fairy Knight?”

“Hmhmhmhmhmhmhm.”

 

And for the first time since I’ve seen him in ages, he smiles and means it all the way through- not the half smirk of relief, not the quick quirk of fury, just that goofy grin that makes my heart go ‘that one, that one, that’s the one’. It never fails to make me want to smile back. I don’t resist, even with the flakes of dried blood cracking on my face.

I follow my husband up through a breezeway by a courtyard, through which I can see and smell indolent couches lit with natural light and writhing with- bodies in tryst. Oh my. The garden in the courtyard is full of roiling flowers and fruit; and in the square near the tower, an empty patch of dirt bound by high hedgerows. Sanji leads me to a gate in the hedge, opens a [ mildly less ostentatious door ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/37/a7/0e/37a70e2b6bfc84414bfef8a6e25e7eee.jpg) , and tugs me into… Oh! This was part of the castle’s original keep- actually, this _was_ the castle’s original keep. There’s more than one room to walk through, all of them drafty and dingy; there are no carpets, and the furnishings are not there. There are no furnishings in any of the rooms, barely even wallpapers- and they’re peeling off, these walls were never meant to hold wallpapers.

Those _bitches._

Finally, we come to the nicest room- Sanji’s bedroom. It’s a combined sitting room and bedroom, and it, at least, was built correctly. It’s… not to my taste, and it’s not to my husband’s taste, but… [ it’s not drafty ](http://dunscastle.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/pink-four-poster.jpg). So that’s something.

There’s a spectacularly ugly divan; not a couch, like mine, a _divan-_ and there’s a dirty mirror over it and, and next to it is a withered husk of a dead rose bouquet in a dry dirty cracked crystal vase, and dingy glasses and murky water in a toile pitcher and- No.

No, I won’t stand for this.

 

“Um. I- can I clean up a bit, please? I can’t fix all of it, I’ll- I’ll need more than a few days to get everything the way I’d like it for you, but… I can at least make this room clean and nice smelling. Better than- this.”

“Ah. Sure, Mab. I- I don’t want you cleaning, especially not by yourself; not every time you’re here. You’re- you’re not my servant, or my maid; you’re not a servant at all. I can clean for myself, but. I- please.”

 

I nod. I take off my jacket, pull my pipa out from it’s shady embrace, and shrug them both on.

 

**_“Thank you._ ** And now- [ Blossoms on a Moonlit River in Spring.](https://youtu.be/Lykgg5phVJE)”

 

 

I play the song. The entire keep is cleaned- we didn’t close the door to my husband’s chambers, after all. I only have some extra seeds for the bare dirt- it gets poor exposure, but I have pink plants perfect for this areas garden dirt- not all of it is shaded, y’see.

The song reminds the keep of what once was, called out to the dirt of its courtyard garden to blooming once more. Butterfly bushes in places where the sun touches, in deep blue and purple and pink and lavender. Delicate hellebore, their cheerful pink blooms a balm to winter’s chill. False indigo, where butterfly bushes would have crowded; pink peonies in larger border stretches. Their blooms will er on the side of the sun, but that’s alright. On the other side of the peony, for variety’s sake, catmint.

An arbor for trumpet vine and plantings of woodbine. A bench that was in the keep but meant for outside.

Hydrangeas ferns burning hearts Nortman’s pipe impatiens foamflower astilbe coleus pulmonaria and daffodil bulbs tucked into the dirt. Toad Lily caladium bergenia columbine coral bells; aggressive ground covers that won’t allow for weeds and don’t like to spread. Flowers and plants for all seasons, even ones I haven’t named and a gentle question from me to the flora- yes, we will grow for you, Queen Mab- and when it is done, I open my eyes to see a clean pink chamber and [ a husband in blue](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=182414746).

From open, glazed windows comes the smell of just-blooming flowers. The courtyard garden hasn’t started blooming yet; it’s all showy roses that only pop out during the summer. In this unwanted corner? Variation, soft greens, blossoms popping out of pale green buds. Not an idea of a pleasure garden; the real thing. Mostly on theme, even.

 

Woo. Might have overdone it. Yeah, I over did it. Ow. Owfuck. Migraine. I carefully topple myself into the remarkably comfortable divan. Take my glasses off and close my eyes and set them on the side table with the posy of roses and woodbine- fresh cut. Pull my jacket off and fold it up fold it over the- this is [ a fainting couch](http://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0168/5988/products/Hot_Pink_Chaise.jpeg_203_1024x1024.jpg?v=1408244352). Oh those _bitches_. Owowowowow.

 

I haven’t made any sounds, I don’t think? But Sanji knows me.

 

* * *

 

Training in the Kamabakka Queendom would have been really nasty- far worse than it was, and it was still pretty awful- if I was as I had been before I became Mab’s husband. I’ve heard of them, of course; their Attack Cuisine and Hormone Cooking are legendary. So is Fairy Cooking, but- all I have to do is ask Mab, and she’ll teach me. Considering the fact we’re married, she’ll probably teach me family recipes too.

I- I’m avoiding the subject.

The worst part about the Kamabakka Queendom wasn’t the Okama- really, there’s nothing wrong with men in women’s clothing. There’s nothing wrong with being a woman in a man’s body, even. It’s… forcing other people to be something they’re not… _that’s_ **_wrong_ **. Sexually harassing people who can’t get away from you… that’s wrong too.

I need to apologize to Robin and Nami.

 

Mab really does know me well; and I know her. She knows my favorite colors are blue, black, and then everything else; I know she hates being rude. She doesn’t show her feelings in her face- they’re in her wings. Taffy was right. For Mab- right here, right now, in this too-pink chamber in weak winter sunlight, her wings are fully inside her body. My wife is hurting.

She did everything she could to make my suffering less, but- ah. My feet are only sore, now, not actively hurting; and my knees are just fine. I kneel, take one of her slick-booted feet, and pull her foot free. Do the same to the other side; set her boots heel to heel and toe to toe with a click of polished leather and a gentle consoling stroke up her calves.

My wife’s legs are lovely, shapely stems; marbled, like the finest cut of beef under a stiff layer of dense… it’s like blubber. The surface layers of her skin are incredibly soft and smooth, like the hide of a whale or a dolphin; feels like… if a rainboot was warm and beating with blood and soft like velvety peach fuzz.

Her feet aren’t [ callused](http://blog.kintec.net/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/calluses-e1414005479828.jpg) like mine are, mine are basically hooves, but hers are… they’re… not deformed, just… they [ aren’t exactly pretty ](https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/enhanced/web03/2012/4/24/11/enhanced-buzz-8912-1335282039-28.jpg) either. Mab’s not a ballerina or a model. She’s beautiful, not pretty- nothing about her is… necessarily made to some nebulous standard of “pretty”. My wife is a person. She’s not- weak. There is absolutely nothing weak about my wife.

I’ve raised up from my kneel on the floor to kneel between my wife's legs, to pressing kisses across Mab’s tension in her brow, to her gentle smile of appreciation. Kiss, kiss. I join her on the silly couch, nudge myself under her.

 

Her face is drawn with exhaustion; I haven’t slept quite easily, but it looks as if Mab just hasn’t slept. She rolls over in my arms, tucks her face into the dark hollow of my shoulder and the pink velvet of the couch. I rub gently at the base of her skull, press a firm pair of knuckles to the peach fuzz brown stripe that starts at the base of her skull and goes all the way down her back and she sighs and I stroke from her skull to the curve of her peach-shaped ass. No, not a peach- a heart. From this angle, it looks like a heart.

I alternate hands until she heaves a ragged sigh, and her long brown wings fully extend. I keep stroking her spine with one hand, and start rotating the joint of her wings in the socket, now the upper, now the lower. If I was trying to arouse her, I’d tug on them- but for just comforting, gentle massage is best. Stroke along the outer edges of them, and- oh, she hasn’t groomed lately, so my fingers end up covered in her own blue wingdust. It’s a bit like sweat; her body produces a dust like scales from a butterfly's wings, every time her wings are tucked inside her body. Doesn’t taste like much of anything- a little salty, maybe, but mostly just what it tastes like to lick her clean dry skin. The dust also makes the flapping of her wings much quieter, and- not numb, but the powder makes her wings less sensitive, which is nice for what I’m trying to do. She’s gone almost pliant in my arms, loose limbed and making faint chirrups and hums- not quite moans, but just on the edge. She’s almost sighing in relief, now.

Her migraines aren’t long things, because they aren’t really migraines. Chopper checked. (Mab uses words- not wrong, but not the way I think they’re necessarily meant.) It does mean, however, that easing her hurts is much easier than it would be if they were really migraines.

 

“Better?”

“Oh god, **_yes,_ ** Sanji.”

“Mm, good.”

“Hmmm.”

“...I’m so glad you’re here with me now, Mab.”

“I’m glad to be here, Sanji.”

“...was that how I looked at women?”

“...?”

“Before I started getting to know you. The way Caroline and all the rest stared and watched and _looked_ at me; was that how I looked at women before you taught me the actual meaning of chivalry? How to really respect women? ...Was that what you meant for me to learn by learning that women are just people?”

“Yes.”

“...Mab, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you, Sanji. You have to apologize to Robin and Nami too; I have letter writing things, and a mail basket- but. Later.”

“Yeah. Thank you. I’m not- I’m not all the way different, but… I don’t want to be an inflexible misogynist, or at least not anymore. Women are people.”

“Mmhm.”

“Pretending to be a woman… _Being women…_ isn’t really what they do here, is it?”

“Nah. They mess around with the idea of gender here; being a man and being a woman are different from being feminine or masculine.”

“I- think I understand what you mean. My issue with the okama here isn’t that they’re wearing dresses and obviously men; it’s that they’re treating being feminine like being women. Those… aren’t the same.”

“No.”

“...”

“Sanji, I already know; it’s okay.”

“I’m thinking how to say it. I- love you. I love everything about you… but when we first met, I mistook you for a boy.”

“Mm? Was it the colors?”

“No- it was the breasts. You’ve complained about their size, but… to me, they’re very small. They aren’t bad, but they’re… they fit in the palm of my hand, and to me, they’re on the small side.”

“To me, they’re just for feeding babies- for that purpose, they’re very small. And they’re just padding for flying, when I don’t have a baby to feed- so for that, they’re too big.”

“Ah. So- they’re going to get smaller?”

“Proportionally, yeah. Ah- did I ever say how big my shoulders and upper body used to be?”

“...No? Mostly just that you got smaller.”

“Ah. If I was in top form, my upper body would be along the same lines as yours or Zoros.”

“...But your ribs are so small...?”

“Flying the way I do is hard work. It’s _really_ hard work; don’t be surprised if you mistake Taffy for a guy next time you see her. Aah, ooh yes- my ribs are small because my lungs are small, Sanji. They work really good, so I don’t need big ones.”

“Heh.”

 

Mab smacked me in the shoulder for that one. Which, fair. (It was a teasing sort of tap, not really meant to hurt. In all honesty, Mab has never, ever hurt me intentionally- and every time I’ve made it clear I was hurt, she apologized. And every time I hurt her, I apologize. Fair’s fair.

God, I love her. I love my wife.)

 

“Pffft, sorry. So- what’s with the bright metallics? You usually wear much less shiny clothes, _pchelka.._.”

“Um. Kamabakka Queendom is known for its policy of transvestism, and I wanted to see you more than I wanted to fight all the Newkama Kenpo practitioners who would have been between me and you, agapité mou.”

“...You teleported in, Mab.”

“Well. Yes, but- I’m still internalizing my new powers, and- they’d have started fighting me immediately if I showed up in my normal clothing. I’m still recovering from the… what are they calling it?”

“The- oh, the Marineford thing? The War of the Paramount.”

“Ha! Aaah~!”

“Hmmm-”

 

I’ve started caressing her sides, my hands roaming over Mab’s warm, curvy body. Her wings have fluttered more and more of the blue rubbing powder off; my touch is making her wings start to squirm and rub together, squeaking and chirping in a very cute way. Her breath is starting to get hot and shuddery.

I smoothly drape a hand over her ass and dig my fingers in to hear her wings whine against each other. She makes very distinctive sounds when something feels really good- especially with her wings. Let’s see if I can just…

 

“I- ah, oah oh oooh- I missed you while we were apart, Sanji-love.”

“I missed you too, Mab-love.”

“S-so, oh, so if you don’t m-mmm-mind, I’d like to sleep at your side as often as possible. I- oh, oh oh oh, aaaaaaaah-”

 

I’m rubbing her wings proper at this point, and she is squirming with her whole body. Come on, come on-

 

“That would make me very happy, my dearest, my _pchelka_ , my beautiful Mab-”

“Uuuhnnngh. Good, I- I- Ah! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah, ah ah ahmmmm aaaah! Aaaaaaaaaaah♥! S-saaanjiiiiii~♥!”

 

**_There_ ** she is.

My hands are liberally coated with blue-grey dust now, as is her shirt and portions of the fainting couch. I always love making her go over the edge; especially when I get to see her face as it happens. Her face always goes so slack with surprise and her eyes get so sweet and gentle; the blissful, sleepy expression is so… I kiss her soft and sweet when it’s done just to hear and feel her sigh. I hold her close to me as aftershocks make her entire body shake. Nuzzle soft kisses into her neck and shoulder; the afternoon’s light blazes with the setting sun. Her hair shimmers red in the light, and her hair combs, shaped like flowers as they are, spark like flames.

My wife is beautiful. God, she’s beautiful. And she smells like… lavender and honey but not, that’s… a hot summer’s night, flower smell through the windows; I can see the damn things, but… Honey- Honey- sucking honey HONEYSUCKLE.

She’s lose like soft tofu draped across my chest, her head tucked into my chest and her eyes half lidded in euphoric bliss. I can feel her shadow, too, humming a song- or really, [ just her. ](https://youtu.be/NBO94mIQqtY)

 

“Madama Butterfly, Mab?”

“Hm? Oh-”

“No, I like it, just… you usually go for something more modern.”

“1207 is only two hundred years, that’s plenty modern!”

“Pffft. ...Hungry?”

“Hmhmhmhmhmhm. I could eat, sure.”

“There’s a cafeteria- oh, oh you’re still wearing your neck stock- hang on, that can’t be comfortable at this angle-”

“-Oh, oh that’s better. Um-?”

“I like the more relaxed look on you. With the waistcoat, and- no bra? Still?”

“Waistcoat makes it a bit useless, really.”

“Ah? Mmm♥!”

“Hmmmm♥. Oh- oh I’ve gotten my- you’re covered in my scales, I’m so-”

“My lipstick is sticky, right?”

“Very, but why-”

 

I start kissing her, kiss her again, and I don’t stop until she’s got a giddy, goofy expression and a face covered over in pink kisses; like in the Sunsday comics in the newspapers. It’s significantly less cheesy- no, that’s not right. It’s cheesy but also very very sweet, in person, especially since I’m the one to put them on her face, down her neck, over the meat of her shoulder. Across her smiling mouth, covering over freckles on the apples of her cheeks. Then, I have an idea.

 

I don’t want anyone to make any mistakes like Caroline did; there’s only one reason pirates get matching tattoos, much less ordinary civilians. And Mab and I are pirates.

 

“Can you- is it okay to take your shirt off? And leave the waistcoat on?”

“Uh- yeah, I can do that, but…?”

“Well. This dress doesn’t have sleeves. Neither does your waistcoat. I- I don’t want to have to yell again.”

 

Mab smiles, wiggles, and tosses her shirt over her jacket. Shiny gold-brown skin, sweat slick and gleaming. Arms that are only going to get more muscular. A mark that matches my own. A smile that I can’t help returning.

Fuck gender roles, I love this woman; even if she’s going to be… she’s going to get taller than me for a while, neither of us are at our full proportion. Our feet say ‘this person is going to be goddamn tall’ and we’re not quite there yet.

I care a little bit, but not enough for it to really bother me too much, I think. And if it does bother me… then I’ll talk to her, and get over it.

 

 

 

With my wife at my side, across from me, her feet tucked into mine- suddenly the gross stares of the okama are no more than seagulls or the sounding sea. Ignorable, ignored; not important. Dinner is… very, very good. I still have no idea how to cook what I’m eating, but if I defeat the Masters here, they’ll teach me their cooking secrets.

But all I have to do with Mab is ask.

 

“Mab?”

“Mrf?”

“-oh my god you look like a chipmunk- no, don’t smile, you’re too cute♥! Kyaaaaaaa♥!”

“Hmhmhmhmhm♥!”

“Oh my **_God_** _you are so_ ** _cute♥!”_**

“Ah- you were going to ask me something?”

“Ah, right. I- I’m going to get really really frustrated and bored learning just one cuisine style, no matter how complex or famous it is. Shitty Old Man didn’t teach me just one style at a time; said it’d do me no favors. So… Would you mind too much teaching me Fairy Cuisine?”

“Ah! Well… I can personally teach you a few recipes because I know them by heart, and I could take you to the Goblin Market later in the year, but it would probably be best if I just got you a copy of my _ fanila  _ recipe book to start with. I mean- yeah, I can do that, I think…”

“...Okay, so. I’ve seen you  _cook;_ the recipe book would be…?”

“...Basically shopping receipts and the names of various dishes cooked from the food bought. Menus, home remedies… Y’know. Like normal recipe books.”

“...So it assumes you already know how to cook.”

“I mean, everyone in my  _ fanila _ does, so…?”

 

Deep breaths, Sanji.

 

“...Would it be weird if I worked out the recipes to a more modern standard?”

“No? I mean, I’ll tell you right now that it’ll be easier to use weight measurements instead of volumetrics, and ratios of food will be more helpful than actual measurements anyway- especially for eggs, and I’ll have to teach you the Order of Spices and what certain things actually mean. Also, your handwriting is shit, so I’ll be rewriting the recipes once you figure them out. Ah- most importantly, once you learn how to read the recipes, it won’t work to try and cook them in your head, the terminology is too different. You’ll have to actually _cook_ the recipes.”

“Okay, Fair enough. ...Wait, what’s the Order of Spices?”

“It’s the order you add spices to the food. Some cuisines, it matters not so much. In Skuan cuisine, it is of vital importance that each spice is added in the correct order, at the correct time. Herbs are more lenient, but spices are not. -you forgot food is medicine too, huh?”

“It generally doesn’t come up, but… no? Who did?”

“Chopper.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

 

We smile at each other with amusement. Mab traces a toe up my calf. I shudder. I feel a long, slow smile rolling across my face. Mab replies in kind.

 

“Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?” I say.

“Aye, if the devil tempt you to do good.” says Mab.

 

There is a great heaving sigh from the majority of… femmes? I had forgotten- right. Sonnets; the most beautiful kind of language, one step below actually singing, which is basically for praising God and the works of God. Hm. Not comfortable singing in public. I look at Mab. I smile.

 

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” I say to her.

I finish the sonnet to a wife surrounded by orange-brown hearts, gently bobbing and spinning around her head. Like a playful butterfly, a soft contingent of my own shimmering blue hearts interweaves with hers, a sweet prelude to more savory delights. A whole school of hearts, dancing around us both, nudging and nuzzling against each other.

The room is stifling thick with our anticipation.

Mab looks at me. She smiles.

 

“[ _I see the lights, dance on the bay-_ ](https://youtu.be/zGTkAVsrfg8)” she sings to me.

 

 

 

The song ends. The femme okama are gasping and wheezing and one of them has full on fainted. I’d sing back but- Mab’s right. I am shy. I’ll sing to her when we’re alone together. But not here.

God I love her.

Since this is real life, not some story, we take the time to bus our table, wash our hands, bump and nudge each other playfully because if you can’t have fun with someone you love what’s the goddamn point? And when all is complete, we take each other by the hand and walk out of [ the pink cafeteria](https://ereszke.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/32500_400368031993_114306166993_4928261_7693965_n.jpg). The architectural styles of the Queendom’s castle is… incoherent. The ambiance is very- odd.

We make it down the hallway about fifteen paces before Mab has me pinned in an alcove. Her mouth is hot and insistent and oh yes, oh yes, please. Ah! Teeth!

 

“Sorry- please pardon my enthusiasm, _agapité mou.”_

“It’s alright; I like your enthusiasm, _pchelka.”_

“Hmhmhmhm. So- your place or mine?”

“Dunno. How about- both? Mine first, since it’s closer…?”

“Alright. Kiss me?”

“Of course.”

 

So I kiss her and roll us against the wall and hear a faint gasp that cuts off as we fall into my very pink bed. It’s- oh, she fluffed the feather mattress, she is _thorough_ and I **_love it_ ** ; mmmmmph! Mmmmmmmmmmph!

 

 

You know that feeling you get when you eat a rasher of really really fucking good bacon and you think to yourself as grease runs down your chin “fuck it, I could die right now and it’d be okay”- that feeling of deep, embarrassing satisfaction as sweet and savory and salt make delicious love on your tongue? Going down on my wife is like that. I’ve actually had years of practice on women’s vaginas and clitorises- and no, actually, the clitoris is very easy to find.

It’s the little nubby thing above the hole, okay? Pretty obvious- and if the woman is interested, it swells up like a little penis. The best way to treat the clit is to suck on it like it’s a tiny penis, or a nipple. Maybe a little gentle teasing with the tip of your tongue on the tip of her clit if she’s not too sensitive. She likes even, repetitive suction best, but she also enjoys a little bit of a nibble now and then- nothing sharp or bitey, just a little touch.

Of course, that’s just the clit- the best way to get a woman to orgasm is actually pressure, not suction. Steady, unrelenting pressure- preferably while filling her up- will make a woman; my woman, my wife, my Mab- steady even rolling pressure will make her orgasm so hard it feels like my cock’s being milked and the tip gets covered in little kiss-feeling things and it’s amazing, it’s astonishingly wonderful.

Mab’s not a squirter- or rather, I’ve never seen her squirt- but by god does she drip when she orgasms.

It’s not sweat, that drips down my balls.

 

♥!

 

There’s a place, just past orgasm- you can reach it if you jump. If you dare. Going that far… I’ve never met anyone I trusted enough to go that far with.

I- don’t like my Lineage, but it _is_ important to know, just for the sake of medical concerns. Going that far, being of my Lineage as I am- it’s dangerous. Not for me- for who I’m with. Most people don’t have what they’d need for me to really let go and- jump. Or if they do, I didn’t know.

I’ve never met anyone I trusted enough to go all the way with. Never met anyone I wanted to climb that high with- never met anyone I wanted to risk like that, because the _reward..._

And then I fell in love with Mab.

 

It takes a while for me to get there, to the place from which one can leap- I have to stoke myself up with _days_ of sex, with hours and hours of thrusting and shuddering and **not ejaculating**. From the other side, it might seem like I have no refractory period to speak of- that’s wrong. I actually have a very long period of time that needs to elapse before I regain consciousness after ejaculation, much less can ejaculate again.

Mostly, it comes down to very fine pelvic floor muscle control; kegels and reverse kegels are the exercises to start with, and I went from there directly into masturbation and the realization that it’s much easier to clean sweat from sheets than it is come. Come is an alkali fluid, and it will leave stains just like bleach- much easier to just… not. One day, when I’d gotten very good at just- not- I somehow or other… I think she must have taken pity on me, and by God I was grateful to her.

It turns out, if you’re used to coming without ejaculating in your everyday, several times a day masturbation- even when enveloped for the first time in something hot and wet and juicy, your first instinct is still to clamp down and just… not spurt it everywhere.

Then I learned that it’s a man spurting come inside a woman that makes a woman get pregnant, so I never really got out of the habit.

And then we come to this.

Mab doesn’t make it easy, to not ejaculate. I was able to explain to her what I wanted, what I was ready to do, and she went wide eyed and flushing and flustered because… we were both taught that leaping into the Space Above your Eyes is a very intimate and dangerous thing to do, and…

I’ve more than a bit of the Devil in me, honestly.

The other thing we were taught is that, of those who hold the Demon-blood, after a certain point in… climbing the mountain… well. Let’s just say that there’s more to making a baby than just fluid exchange. For the two of us, due to our Lineages… there are no “safe” days, just “safer” days; and Chopper’s Medicines can only account for so much.

 

♥!

 

Of course, it’s not so simple as getting “up the mountain”.

Mab, for example, drips like a leaky roof when she’s into it like that, and to avoid chafing and stains, we have to stop. I get muscle sore too; and she still wanted to give me that foot rub. To be honest, my feet still ached- so I let her.

 

I watched her with lazy half-lidded eyes and a throbbing dick as she dressed herself in the cutest [ little nightgown and panty set ](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB11plpKFXXXXaAXpXXq6xXFXXXA/Sexy-lingerie-Hot-Leopard-babydoll-lace-nighty-dress-VS-sleepwear-Ladies-nightgown-sexiest-Pajamas-underwear-Nighties.jpg_640x640.jpg) I’d ever seen her in. Her leopard print underwear- now **_that_ ** she soaked through with sweat and arousal mere minutes after she drew them up her long thick legs and against the rounded sweetness of her ass and the soft hair cleft of her vagina.

She pauses, looks back at me. Blushes harder than I’ve ever seen her before- ah. Her fetish.

I’m… hm. Honestly, of all the fetishes I’ve ever encountered, hers is… kinda really cute? I mean, I can feel why she wants to put me in silk and lace and frilly things- she genuinely thinks I’d look cute in them, and she wants to see if she’s right. Apparently sewing is a lot like cooking- you can cook all you want in your head, but until you actually _taste_ it, there’s no way to know if it works or not.

 

“You have something for me to wear, _ma_ _pchelka?_ ”

“Oh, ah. Y-yes, if you- if you want.”

“I always want what you have for me, Mab.”

“Oh my.”

 

And she blushed so hard I was half afraid she’d faint.

Then she handed me a pair of black lace paisley briefs and I sort of understood her excitement. Slid them on with a minimum of discomfort- she really does know exactly how big I am, and how much space to give me.

 

“Lay down on the divan, please-”

“The couch?”

“That’s what I said…?”

“Alright, just checking _pchelka._ ”

“Alright- do you need me to go through everything I’m going to do…?”

“No, I trust you.”

“Alright- then. If you can- try to relax, as much as you can. You must tell me immediately if I hurt you. Immediately, Sanji.”

“I will, Mab.”

 

She opened a tub of oily cream- smelled like bergamot and tea; and then she rubbed her hands together, and the cream became liquid oil and then she touched my foot and- and-

 

aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-!

 

I- I’ve never had a foot massage before. Never really- thought of it as a thing to do. I do my own pedicure, of course- and keeping the overall callus down to a light or nonexistent state is very important, but… but it never feels like this- aah! Oh!

 

“aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAOW! STOP-”

“Oh no- I’m sorry, I hurt you-”

“No, I just- you know when you stretch something and you didn’t realize it’s sore?”

“Oh! Oh wow. Um- that’s... -We can add this to the daily everything? Just- end of the day, I’ll rub your feet…?”

“Um.”

“It’ll also let me ogle your magnificent legs, so don’t pretend I’m not getting something good out of it. And… I like seeing you relaxed and happy.”

“Oh. Well. I- I don’t have any objections to it. I just- wow, did not realize how sore my feet actually are. Keep going though; it was a good hurt, not a bad one.”

“Like stretching the soreness away?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright- tell me if it hurts anyway, okay?”

“Okay.”

 

And then she goes back to stroking the ache out of the top of my foot- her hands are perpetually cold to my skin but my foot feels like it’s burning and it’s a good and cleansing flame, her bony fingers cupping and cradling the rounded stiff weight of my heel and her thumbs stroking from the cleft of each toe all the way up to my ankle and then back down but lighter and I- I- I swear to God it feels like getting a blowjob. I swear to God.

Five times this stroke continues, and then she starts working on the bottom of my foot- toes to ankle, hard in soft out and I swear I dry orgasm right then and there- just. Pushing, stroking, stoking me- higher.

Cups one hand under my heel like- and her hot wet palm is behind my ankle, bracing my foot and my leg and she grips the ball of my foot with her other hand and gently slowly turns my foot at the ankle for five times in each direction and I can’t I can’t- aaaaaaah that feels so nice, how can something so simple feel so nice? Her face is very intent on me, on my legs on my face- eye catches eye because she very much wants me to feel- good. For her, right now, it isn’t about getting off- it’s about comfort, and care. And I love her.

This next part is hard to quantify- on the one hand, nothing is quite so relaxing as getting a good toe rub. On the other, the way she looked at me, at my face at my dick in it’s lacey confines at my bare hairy legs and my slightly swollen feet and her eyes her face her wet pink mouth was so- hungry- for me- and even though I kick everything, I broke the habit of using my toes after many, many months of limping. They’re crooked and ugly and very sensitive and her fingers were so gentle but so insistent, too- her hand was gripping beneath the arch of my foot and her other hand began with my big toe thumb on top and index beneath and starting at the base she slowly firmly pulled my toe. Slid her fingers to the top and back to the base. Did it again but gently squeezed and rolled the toe between her fingers, working her way to the tip and back to the base. She did this with all my toes and I never orgasmed so hard in my life without ejaculating too.

Finally, toe slides- grasped my foot behind the ankle, cupping my heel again. Used- fffuck, fingerfucked my toes and just- sliding, with her index finger, back and forth between each toe five t-t-times aaaah! Hot, hot, my foot was burning against her breast and thigh she rested my foot against her warm wet honey pot and I felt so-

Bright-

Felt her press the heel of her hand deep into the arch of my foot and it hurt so good I fell face first into an orgasm and- and- aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH♥!

I came back down to bone dry panties and steady stroking up and down my hot narrow feet. Mab had to pin my foot between her thighs and I was- my foot was- soaked with her excitement- I- scorching across the cushions and soot on her skin but she was grinning with delight- I didn’t hurt her at all.

Oh boy.

 

“Mmmhmm, Sanji, tati mou- I’d love to continue where we left off, but… you have two feet, my love.”

“Ooh.”

“Mmhm. Give me your other foot, dearest.”

“Yes. Yes.”

 

I give her my other foot. My beautiful, feminine, smart, sexy wife rubs three more orgasms out of me and an entire cloud of sooty passion-fire. It has a real name, but- mmm.

 

I’m hungry and thirsty and I need to pee and I want to orgasm so badly with her- but. Food. Water. Piss.

We have to stop to eat, and drink and use the toilet- we kiss and we cuddle and we make love until neither of us can keep conscious; I wake to Mab rolling against my fresh-woken pleasure and Mab wakes to my gentle caress- I learn of indignities forced upon her and adjust myself to cater her needs, her wants, her desire.

(It really is a shame Mab got to her rapist first; I’ve a lovely deboning knife I’ve been meaning to retire for a while now. Still. I can’t be mad at her for taking her vengeance. My wife is strong. And I love her.)

We go up, up, up and the flames burn brighter.

 

♥!

 

When I get excited, I burn.

That’s not a metaphor.

I leave physical scorch marks on objects when I lose control; I have since I was a child. The first thing I could ever do was a little spark, in the darkness of the dungeon, and then a soft candle flame- and then the desire, the rage within me only grew. I’m not scared of it, when it’s only me who has to face it, or an enemy- but I didn’t want to touch Mab with Balefire. That’s what it’s called- Balefire.

Spirals are the Devil’s Mark; you see them on Devil Fruits and in the brows of the Vinsmoke, who are of demon-blood stock. And you see it in their passion, too- Vinsmokes **_burn_ ** when their passions are aroused, and… even if my immediate family is shit… I’m not. It’s my name, too.

-But if Vinsmokes burn, Morgans **soak**.

Udoroth, Demon Lord of the Smoking Vine was wed to Unhame Maleficent, Lady of Bloodroot Fields, Who Dwelt Near the Sea- or, in the old language, **_Morgan_ **. She bore him sons and daughters; and of the sons, they burnt. But of the daughters- they soaked. (Bloodroot is an old name for beets; and they do look bloody when you cut them open, like blood from a vein.)

I am a Vinsmoke- I can run from it all my life, or face it. Mab doesn’t care- or she cares inasmuch it bothers me, she doesn’t care about it in relation to herself. And… I spent a long time telling myself I didn’t care, but I do. I care so much I can hardly stand it.

My passion burns Balefire bright.

 

♥!

 

The heat between us becomes unbearably good- I had forgotten; in the depths of the Sea, the Land’s burning heart is easily found. It vents it’s passion into the deep black waters, and strange life sups at the fumes let off from it’s spray.

As we tangle together, my skin and my flesh, my penis and scrotum legs feet stomach chest arms hands throat face the skin of my scalp and the strange flaring tangle of my hair becomes incandescent- hot to the touch and bright like the sun or the stars. Light, Baleful, blinding light begins to blaze and burst in fits and stutters and spurts from my body.

Mab becomes liquid; wet and sopping and soaking, gouts of mist and sizzle rising from where our bodies touch until I forget where my Balefire ends and where her Soaking begins.

 

♥!

 

With the melding of our flavors comes the fading of time, of place- the world could have exploded, tasty food and naked women could have been falling from the sky and I wouldn’t have noticed. I can’t tell you how long we were one being, one form- hand grasping hand cupping groping gliding sliding pinching preening the press of temple to temple and the way her eyes ringed in their dark Fairy lenses caught and stayed riveted tied skewered to mine the smell of baking bread and honeysuckle the smell of soot and sea-brine boiling and the whole world all the demon-blood and the sense-memory and the longing the deep endless longing pressed like a glass marble between my eyes but hot hot hotter than anything I’d ever known or touched before-

 

♥!

 

And then we pressed our foreheads together and jumped. I ejaculated and the world went bright, pure white like the brightest of lights. It rolled and roiled and bucked and writhed and we floated higher and higher and higher and I love her I love her I-

she-

loves me too-

and she’ll never stop for anything, not even death.

I can only match her; strength to strength and love to love, so long as we both are. So long as we both… **_are._ **

 

♥!

 

I return to my body with my oversensitized dick burrowed deep into Mab’s warm wet honey pot, her hips clinging to mine, her knees grinding into the floor and her chest and breasts grinding into the carpet covered stone floors of the pink chamber. At some point, our tangled congress flung us from the softer confines of the bed to the cold rush of open air, to my body bracing hers into the ground and her writhing and clawing the ground like a wild creature.

In the strange moments between being myself and being with god, I can see what we look like from the outside. Our hands are linked, instead of me holding her wrist down, or something like that- and I’m not holding her neck, but the base of her wings. Still, we look like… I saw it in a Sutra a long time ago, it was called… [ “Demon Covets Fairy” ](http://sexpositions.club/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/8_29_3.png) I think, noted to be the way Udoroth overcame Maleficent during their consummation ceremony.

And then I’m back in my body and I collapse on top of Mab- she coughs and groans underneath me, but I’m too exhausted to move off of her. My limbs tremble and spasm, and it’s all I can do to coil my shaking limbs around my beloved wife before the darkness takes me.

 

I open my eyes to see Mab’s slightly pained face- oh, right, she can’t actually stop orgasming until her flower is empty, I’m sorry- I draw myself out of her as best I can, the both of us wincing and flinching as hairs dried together with our juices are pulled out and pulled apart. I prop myself up and watch as Mab’s sweaty body relaxes again, her long thick legs going pliant and slightly twitching. I watch as her black-furred flower gapes open, pink leaves oozing with her own clear sap and my burning white passion. I watch my burning white passion ooze out of Mab’s soaking wet center, hiss and sizzle onto the bare stone floor where her legs shiver as she plants her sweet dumpling ass onto the cold floor and wheezes.

I am not being facetious- my come is literally hissing and spitting as it comes into contact with the stone floor, nearly white-hot. Mab is soaking with sweat, dark liquids flowing from her honey pot and cooling my come into a slippery white-clear puddle.

I watch gooseflesh ripple across her- oh, right, she’s sensitive to temperatures. Here we go. I muster what little of my strength remains and scoop her up in my arms, gently drop her into- into- no.

 

“So. Uh. Mab?”

“Hmmm?”

“We broke the bed.”

“...what?”

“Mab, we broke the bed.”

 

It creaks apart, the feathers quietly fizzling out where they were merrily burning. The whole chamber stinks of rose-blossoms and burnt feathers. It is by turns burnt and flooded; we really busted the shit out of this place. Mab scrunches her nose, then grins at me.

 

“Hang on- here we are.”

 

I blinked, and missed the transition from my ruined chambers to her little houseboat. Her things are neatly stowed and stored- including the things she brought with her, and the things I suppose she brought me.

Consider it later- bedtime now. I carry her into the narrow little bedroom, pull back the sheets and coverlet, and tuck us both into bed for the rest of the evening and night.

 

Come the dawn, and I’m singing to Mab in our bed. It’s soft, our bed, like the one we got married proper in. Smells of her. The whole boat smells of her.

And me too, now.

 

“[ _-I just want us to wake up in the same bed._ ](https://youtu.be/9ZBtl6NUMAE)” I finish singing. Mab looks at me in the early light of dawn and smiles, sleepy and content.

 

“The same bed, every night?” she says.

“Every night we can help it. We don’t have to… this, this much, not every time, but… I- I mean, meant, every word.”

“I know you do. I know, my love. Alright. God knows I can’t sleep right without you next to me.” she says, smiling.

And then she snuggled into me, pressed the side of her face into mine.

 

I’ve just realized why I she does that. Like- when I get sad, really sad, upset- overwhelmed- I curl into myself and press my hands to my face to remind myself that I’m not- There- and Mab noticed. So, now when I need comforting, she lets me hold her as tight as I want, and presses her forehead against mine so I can feel her breath on my face and smell her scent and see her, right there in front of me.

Mab is- all my dreams, and all my nightmares, permanently bound to each other. And when I’m with her- nightmare, dream- I know she’s real, and so am I, and I can’t thank her enough for it. It feels good, to be tangled together with her. It feels-

Good.

We hold each other for a long time, and can hardly bear to be apart.

 

Mab takes my measurements in between wild-tender frantic-patient sweet-hot-sour-salty-bitter warm-cold short-long more-more-more bouts of lovemaking, which is sex with all the fixings and a lovely melting center. Spectacular and momentous and endlessly delightful.

God, I love her, and I’m in love with her.

After those first few days together, we settle into a routine; we have our own work to do during the weekdays, and generally only sleep during the weeknights.

Weekends? That’s husband-wife time, and she’s quite interested in figuring out all the ways we can work together. As am I, truthfully; there are many ways to have Mab and Sanji. Mmmm.

I’m kind of glad we’re taking this two year training break; it’ll give me a chance to become more equal to Mab, not emotionally or spiritually; we’re already equals there- but physically. Which will be fun.

 

It’s also fun to see which of Mab’s proposed dresses for me make her do the hearts-n-noodles dance; so far, pencil skirt ensembles are a definite yes, and I’m learning to walk in floor length gowns with heels as a surprise for her. When she’s not perving on me, Caroline is actually pretty nice; very helpful and contrite once I explained why I freaked out. Also very helpful in getting me a pair of heels I actually can walk in; pumps are out, wedges are in.

 

Anyway, I’m almost done with the ballgown laces, and Mab’s waiting to see my newest look. She might actually pass out this time. Wish me luck!


	6. 14:00; Guitar Lessons

I hate Gol D. Roger. I- that’s a bit reflexive. I don’t hate him personally- I don’t hate the man. Let me try that again.

I hate the Legend of Gol D. Roger. That’s more like it.

The legend of Gol D. Roger goes something like- old pirates in garbage piles, cursing a dead man’s life while the dead man’s son can hear. A sea of people screaming for the blood of the devil, and all the devil’s children. Crazy assholes going after a dead man’s treasure- just a pile of crap, not what was actually important until yes they are, and they want him- them- him dead.

Gol D. Roger was just a man. Roger, my- sire, is the word my brother Spadey taught me. My sire was just a man. We’re all just people, and my sire was just a man. The Pirate King, Gold Roger, is the one I hate- not for anything he did, mind. But for what people did, said to me just for being his son… Aye, that thing I hate most of all.

 

I hated myself for a while too, but- recently, I have an actual reason. I- I just burnt my guitar. I made my little sister cry. I burned my other sister, I scared my family, I’m such a- GAH!

 

“Bad!” says Felix, her eyes still scratchy red. She-

“What did you just spray me with, Fee?” I say.

“Salty water with some lavender in it. And I’ll do it again if you keep thinking like that!” says Felix with wet cheer.

She’s holding her arm funny- I burnt her.

Fuck, I burnt her.

 

Atty was right.

 

Mab smirks, and continues wrapping my burnt hands in bandages. She’s already spread burn cream over them, held my hands under cold running water until I said they were going numb. She removed the deepest burns from my fingers and palms, wound them up my arms to my elbows in  [ sharp flickering patterns ](https://beautyhealthtips.in/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Full-hand-till-elbow-dulhan-mehndi-design.jpg) I don’t know the name of. If she hadn't, I'd have lost my fingers, probably.

I- I can’t stop crying. My heart hurts. My arms and hands hurt. It hurts.

 

Felix is… She was born eighth of the littles, and she moves like a cat. She’s kind of bitchy like a cat too, but she’s one of those rare cats that actually likes people and only rarely bites the shit out of people just because.

She’s got big silver eyes, and the freckles apparently every Portgas has. Pierced ears, half shaved head with long hair on top she  [ keeps in a bun ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/52/6a/c5/526ac53a9df1ccb9817cf7c1b55c98f5.jpg) ; she’s also twelve. So. Wears a jumpsuit? Might be overalls, white t-shirt.  [ Heavy boots ](http://s7d9.scene7.com/is/image/SteveMadden/STEVEMADDEN-BOOTS_SYD_BROWN-LEATHER_SIDE?hei=523&qlt=85,1&wid=555&fmt=jpeg&resMode=bicub&op_sharpen=1) , the kind I remember wearing as a teen. Hers are more weather beaten though, like animals have been biting them.

 

 

I really fucked up. I’m such a- FUCK!

“Nice shot, Fee.”

“Thank’ee sai, Mava.”

“What the fuck, why-”

“You have what’s known back home as ‘stink-brain’. It means you’re real good at that stinkin’ thinkin’, and the only way to stop a stank like that is some good clean water.” says Felix, as she lines up another shot and skooshes me in the face again. I’m expecting it this time, but not the one Mab gets me with in the ear.

 

“Gah! I wasn’t even-”

“Yes, you were.” says Mab.

-she’s right, I was.

 

“So- what, are we not even going to mention the-?” I start to say.

“Morgan used to beat me because I wasn’t Rouge.” says Mab.

 

I stop cold. Stare at her. She continues wrapping my hands, finishes. Gently sets them down. She starts fiddling with a hanky like she did when she told me about- oh no.

 

“She beat Spadey because he wasn’t what she wanted- the one I heard the most was that he wasn’t Roger, wasn’t Rouge, wasn’t you, wasn’t me- Spadey was never what Morgan wanted. I was never what Morgan wanted. So, I don’t part my hair down the middle- if you’ve noticed, Spadey doesn’t either.” says Mab.

 

Felix skooshes her with the lavender saltwater.

 

“Thank you, Fee.” says Mab.

 

Felix nods solemnly. It’s rare that I ever see her not smiling a catty smile, like she’s played a trick and you’re in for it. I really scared her.

 

“For you, it’s both more and less complicated- and the particulars don’t really matter, what matters is it hurts and it won’t stop. Listen to someone who knows already- hurting yourself isn’t the answer.” says Mab.

“-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that to you- what I meant to say was that you’re already a better man than Roger ever was. You’ve met your babies, you’ve held them- you’re working with the mother of your children to protect them and love them, not on your own.” says Felix.

 

Mab skooshes me again.

 

“Whurgh!”

“You’re you, and you're alive, and that’s enough. Portgas D. Ace Ariel, you are enough.” says Felix.

 

And then I’ve got an armful of shaking little sister and another one occasionally skooshing me with lavender saltwater. Eventually, the narcolepsy drags me down onto the slightly uncomfortable infirmary bed in the Moby. I know it was the narcolepsy because of the conversation I heard while my eyes were still closed.

 

(“Mab, could you do me a favor?”

“I could.”

“In my room at mom’s, in the closet, there’s a guitar- it was one of Rogers, but he never played it. It doesn’t have strings, just a case and some plectra rings.”

“Ah-huh.”

“And- if you go get it, and string it, and give it to Ace, I’ll give you a bonded set of Angora Flap-ears.”

“Um. Why can’t you…?”

“Because I want it for myself, Mab! I- I really love playing guitar, you know that, but… I can get by with a drum kit, a-and a harp. Harps aren’t so bad, right? And… I can get another guitar, but Ace needs one he won’t be able to break in a fit of rage.”

“...I could just get him another guitar, Felix.”

“No, it has to be that one. Atty had a Sight.”

“Ah. ...well, alright. Actually- no, I’ll string it. But- you can’t make me give away your guitar, Felix. If you’re going to do something so grown and painful, you have to do it to your own self.”

“...Okay. I’ll give you the opossums anyway; I have no idea how to string or tune that monster. Deal?”

“...Deal.”)

 

And then I woke up, curled around a deeply sleeping Felix. Mab was knitting in a hard chair at my side, fingers flying over narrow needles and  [ a song ](https://youtu.be/I7UvbwCjXUk) spilling from her lips. When I stared at her for longer than the song was, she blinked and finished her row of…

 

“What are those called?”

“Ah?”

“Those things you loop with the sticks when you knit? -what are you even making?”

“Oh, they’re called stitches, and the sticks are actually needles. Technically they’re a kind of knot, but- and I’m making a sock, I think.”

“Ah. Um.”

“Hm?”

“I- I heard you two talking earlier. Um… what can I trade you for you to find me a guitar for Felix?”

“Aha. Um. Hmm.”

 

Mab stabs her needles into the probably-sock, stabs the whole grey-blue mass into a ball of stripey yarn- like a sunset in a bowl. She tugs her glasses off, puts them on top of her head, hums some more. Starts speaking with her eyes closed.

 

“Asher... You know you’re a prince, right? Not like a shitty hereditary title from some nouveau royalty that doesn’t even govern, but like an actual prince?”

“...considering one of my mothers was an out and out queen, I’d have to be, right?”

“Mhm. Do you know what Skuan princes and princesses and royalty  _ actually  _ **_does_ ** though?”

“Uh.”

“Alright- this is why Morgan had a proper funeral. Skuan Royals do not govern their people; we have dedicated clergy for that. Skuan Royals go out and fight for their people. You are nowhere near strong enough to even think about doing that. I am; Spadey is. You… could be. The Littles aren't quite there yet, but Gable's decided to go down that road. So. Here’s what you can Trade; in exchange for me getting a guitar for Felix, which means more than you think it does, I would ask of you to train with Danelphe in the arts that are your birthright.”

“...What does it mean, to give someone your guitar?”

“Ah. Music in Skua is akin to prayer, Ace; every song, every note- all of it is prayer and worship of all creation. Even bad music is  _ still music; _ after a certain point, swears and curses loop around to prayer again. Felix giving you a guitar she wants for herself is more than just a musical instrument; me finding one for Felix is more than just going to a store. It’s a hard thing, a dangerous thing; in both our cases. I’ll do it, though- I’ve some skill at finding what I search for, and I know Felix- but. If I do this thing, you must train with Danelphe, so you never ask such of me again.”

 

I stare at Mab. I stare down at Felix, curled into my chest, her breath along the same consistency as my skwids. She really loves me, and so does Mab.

I think they all might; all my family.

I look back up at Mab. I swallow.

 

“I’ll train with Danelphe in exchange for a guitar for Felix, Mab.”

“Alright. It’s a Deal. Hm- Felix told me she doesn’t have school tomorrow, so- I’ll tell mom that she’s spending the night. Don’t worry too much about protecting her; she can handle herself as well as you could when you were seventeen. Probably better- you know she researches Skuan animals for fun, right?”

"So?"

"So, every living being in Skua has access to most kinds of Haki almost from birth."

“...Yeah, she’ll be fine.”

“Mmhm. Go back to sleep, Ace. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

 

I close my eyes, scrunch my face up when Mab presses a kiss into my forehead, but she does the same to Felix so- I guess it’s just a thing my sister does? Eech.

 

“I don’t need no shitty sister kisses, Mab.”

“I don’t need no shitty brothers who hurt me and themselves. I guess we both have to suffer.”

“...you two sure do waste a lot of saliva calling each other assholes...” mumured Felix, still asleep.

 

Mab and I sniggered at her comment because, well, it’s true. She also said it while fully unconscious. Which, cute. Ow- yeah, Mab definitely got me good. My jaw’s going to be sore for a while.

 

* * *

 

“-I’D RATHER DIE THAN BE LIKE HIM- Augh!”

 

I punch Ace before he can heat up the room more than he has. He goes flying through the shadow on the back wall, and rolls to a stop against a tree.

 

**“Dollperganger: Five, Six, Seven, Eight.”**

I made another two dolls because. Um. Well anyway, I guess I just wanted another one…? Anyway. As I was leaping after my grumpy brother, nine copies of myself start comforting my very upset younger sisters. I leave them to it, and dart after my brother. I’m too late; he’s burnt his guitar to ashes, and he’s holding the metal strings and  [ screaming ](http://img10.deviantart.net/b546/i/2011/202/5/3/ace__s_despair_by_hyuuga_tashigi_chan-d418is2.jpg) , Ace, Ace-

 

**“ACE!”**

 

I black my hands and peel the burning metal strings from his hands and I lift him from that place of perdition and run us towards the sea, oh how I run towards the sea; plunge his hands into cold winter-water, and he screams as his anger is pulled from his hands to mine it burns. Seawater cools his flesh and I pull us both onto stones of basalt and wrap his arms in his own fire because if they’d stayed where they were he’d have lost his fingers.

I can’t remove everything, but I move enough of the damage around that they’ll just be sore, maybe prickle in the summer when the heat is going to come through; oh Ace.

I hold my brother as he sobs. We’re on a nameless hunk of stone, stout trees dug into red, red dirt and jutting out over black stones. On the far horizon, I can see a white whale-ship.

Behind us, a pillar of fire recedes to simple smoke, and then that eases up too. The faint memory of talking to Marco, who heard Ace shout, among others. The white whale ship comes towards us, and then- a blue bird, made of flames.

 

 

Marco’s a man with eyes like an owl, deeply unconcerned with the passage of time. He has blonde hair, a scruffy chin, a blank expression- not like mine, like… hm, like he’s seen all this before. This does not change, even when he’s a giant dishevelled bird. He’s never seen a real Phoenix; or maybe he has? He looks like a weird, impossible cross between a peacock and a kestrel. It sent Felix into a near conniption when she saw him for the first time. I’m more restrained with my worry- he… it’s most obvious in bird form. This is not a healthy man, not in his mind I mean.

Patience, Mab.

He lands on a spar of basalt stone, red dirt crumbling under his talons. There’s a flare of blue unburning flames, and he settles down next to where I’ve curled around my narcoleptic brother.

 

“So. What was that about, yoi?”

“Hm? Ah- Felix runs her mouth a lot, and usually it doesn’t matter because it’s really obvious she doesn’t mean most of what she says in a harmful way. This time, she meant what she said and Ace didn’t take it as a compliment.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. ...Did your Pops really teach Roger how to play guitar?”

“He  **_tried._ ** Roger wasn’t very good, but… Roger learned a lot of things he wasn’t all that suited for to impress Rouge, yoi.”

“I figured.”

“...You don’t like Roger too, yoi?”

“No, I don’t; but my problems have more to do with  _ Rouge, _ not Roger. Roger isn’t my sire.”

“I’d wondered, but… it seemed a bit rude to ask.”

“Mm. I mean, I don’t look much like the rest of us until you get close, and even then, the various features aren’t all that uncommon.”

“It becomes very obvious when you’re around each other- but… on first glance, I almost mistook you for Morgan. Second glance was Rouge. Um- sorry, didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, Marco. I’m not as hotheaded as Asher is- I never have been. And, I mean… I can understand that- jolt, I guess. I  _ do _ look just like my mothers- and my sire, unfortunately. It’d be weird if I didn’t.”

“Hm. So… back to the Moby, yoi?”

“Hmm- I don’t think so; Ace needs to wake up first. Every Portgas has a touch of Narcolepsy; his isn’t the worst I’ve seen, but it’s pretty severe.”

“...Wait, all of them? Uh, you too, yoi?”

“Yup. Rouge was noted to have the least severe instance of the family affliction, while Cousin Lefite, who has eight children when last I saw him, has the worst recorded version of the family narcolepsy. As far as any of us can tell, he basically lives his life in a sort of sleep-walk, with moments of confused consciousness. All totalled, he’s maybe been conscious about… forty? Forty-five? Hours. In his life; ever.”

“...You can’t be serious.”

“-So Rouge always took a ten minute nap after meals, right?”

“...Holy fuck, no. Oh my god.”

“Yeah. Asher- Ace- He got lucky. Hell’s bells, **_I_ ** got lucky; and it’s shit like this… this is why I was so insistent on finding a way for Asher to learn all his heritage back at Morgan’s funeral; there are things he needs to know. Anyway, I need twenty minutes every day, usually before lunch, and I tend to go straight to blackouts after seriously overdoing it- and I’m going to guess he doesn’t take naps?”

“No, Ace doesn’t take naps. -Would you mind telling all this to the nurses, yoi?”

“Oh, sure, no problem. Ah, he fell asleep, real sleep; he’s breathing different, see?”

“I do. Back to the Moby?”

“Yup.”

“I’ll show you to the infirmary… and I’m going to guess those marks on his hands and arms are permanent, right?”

“Oh  **yeah.** He won’t lose his hands, but...”

“I figured, yoi.”

 

 

I followed Marco back to the Moby, my brother cradled in my arms. I follow him when we get to the Moby, carry my brother through halls and down to a very well stocked infirmary. Whitebeard is there too, and he elects to stay through my explanation of the hereditary narcolepsy. It’s true, every single Portgas has it with more or less severity. Considering the logistics of it all, Cousin Lefite had to get his wife pregnant while he was asleep. Which. 

**_Somnophilia is not my thing- nor bondage, for that matter._ **

 

Ace got off lightly, all things considered. I explain what I can and put burn cream on Ace’s arms. A nurse hands me clean bandages to wrap his arms and- aha. He’s still unconscious, but he’s not sleeping- he’s coming out of a pretty nasty narcoleptic fit.

 

Another vague recollection- Felix! No one really had the heart to play with Ace having left in such a state, so- with some cajoling from me, I took everyone back home. Excepting Felix, who was so distraught she bluntly refused to go anywhere. She’s still clinging to me, but she’s not… Ah. I know what to do.

 

**End Beat: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Return.**

 

From the shadows of the world, I return to myself. There are nine of me in the room, and then only one winding bandages and eight dollpergangers fluttering through the air and into my belt pouches. I think I’ll make thirteen total, making me the fourteenth. Maybe come up with a better way to make division of myself. Hm. Toothpicks? Matchsticks? What am I saying, needles! But for Dollpergangers… Maybe a tiny one? Maybe make them all tiny. Hm.

 

Oh, Felix is here with the last dollperganger, and a bottle full of lavender saltwater. And Ace is about to wake up, too. Let me just-

 

* * *

 

“-I’ve got no problem with Marco, it’s that he’s got no idea how to be a phoenix that’s rubbing me wrong.” I say.

“-phoenixes are real?” says Ace.

“Yeah!” I say.

“...Really?” says Ace.

“Yes, really!” I say.

“...” Ace doesn’t believe me.

 

I narrow my eyes. I take a deep breath.

 

“Okay. So, phoenixes are a kind of wild pheasant, most closely related to the golden pheasant. They experience a strong sexual dimorphism, with males being highly decorated with bright colors and adornments like wattles, masks, or plumes. Males are also usually bigger than females and have longer tails, with fancier feathers. Male phoenixes usually play no part in rearing young. As a whole, they mostly eat seeds and some insects.” I say.

 

Ace is staring at me with raised eyebrows. He glances at Marco, who has frozen mid bite, his bowl of seed and nut heavy muesli and yogurt damning evidence when taken into account alongside his normal, flamboyant attire, and his steadily blanching face.

I narrow my eyes until they’ve nearly shut, and continue.

 

“Females are generally charcoal or soot colored, and can be mistaken for terns at a distance, while juveniles and chicks are generally ash colored. Females will do their best to attract a mate by exhibiting what can only be called mob behavior, more often seen in crows or ravens when faced with an aerial predator. ...Sort of like teenage girls being faced with their favorite live musician and devolving into a screaming mob of sexual frustration.” I say.

 

Marco has spat out his spoon and pressed his hands into his face.

 

“The reason it fluffs me wrong whenever I see even part of his zoan transformation is he doesn’t know how to be a phoenix. He doesn’t know how to groom. He doesn’t know how to forage. He doesn’t know the best way to keep his talons neat and good for walking around on. Those bags under his eyes shouldn’t be there; he should have more of a bounce to his step. People who eat Zoan-type Devil Fates gain characteristics of whatever animal the Fate is defined by, as is well known. 

“Phoenixes aren’t eternally young, exactly, but their lifespan is measured much the same way a tree's would be. They’re known for their vibrancy, and their overall enjoyment of the pleasures of life- eating, sleeping, sex, fighting, adventure- everything. So, every time I see his phoenix self, all I can see is a big, sad bird. And it doesn’t have to be like that.” I say.

 

Ace is now staring at me and at Marco like he’s waiting for something. Marco’s shoulders are shaking- oh no. Oh no I did it again, didn’t I.

 

“...Marco, are you okay? It’s okay if you’re not.” I say.

“...There’s a word for it?” says Marco.

 

Oh dear.

 

“Yes, there is. There are symptoms too.” I say.

“...What, exactly?” says Ace.

“Depression is a state of low mood and aversion to activity that can affect a person's thoughts, behavior, feelings, and sense of well-being. People with a depressed mood can feel sad, anxious, empty, hopeless, helpless, worthless, guilty, irritable, angry, ashamed, or restless. They may lose interest in activities that were once pleasurable, experience loss of appetite or overeating, have problems concentrating, remembering details or making decisions, experience relationship difficulties and may contemplate, attempt or commit suicide. Insomnia, excessive sleeping, fatigue, aches, pains, digestive problems, or reduced energy may also be present. Depressed mood is a feature of some psychiatric syndromes such as major depressive disorder, but it may also be a normal temporary reaction to life events such as bereavement, a symptom of some bodily ailments or a side effect of some drugs and medical treatments.” says Mab. She’s taking the sudden entrance thing very seriously; and she’s never stopped talking in paragraphs.

 

“If you feel depressed… well, first let me say that there is nothing wrong with being depressed. Your brain is fucking with you, and you can’t help that. Second, there’s help for it- you can talk to a therapist, or write in a journal, or see if medication might be useful. Third, pretty sure your family will support you; that’s what families do. Um… hm. Anyway, Mom said you don’t have school today, Fee- something about a suspension-”

 

Shit, forgot- oh no.

 

“-which means she asked me to handle your day’s training. I think she’s a bit upset.” says Mab.

“...I don’t know how to fly yet.” I say, gulping. My  [ cherubim-wings ](http://buzzkenya.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/lilac-breasted-roller-1.jpg) are shivering against my back.

 

“Mhm. We’re going to fix that momentarily. Ace- look after your brother, please. He seems in a bad way, and could probably use the support. Felix- since you’ve flensed, it’s about time to teach you the basics of flight. Old Man Whitestache-” says Mab.

 

Whitebeard- that’s not a beard though so I guess it’s a nickname- blinks at her like she’s overstepping.

 

“-I leave them in your protective clutches. Come along Felix, there’s a lovely sugar sand beach not far; we’ll be stopping back here for lunch and dinner.” says Mab.

 

 

As I’m chivvied out of my seat and away, I see Ace going across the table to Marco’s side, wrapping an arm around him and waiting.

Ace is basically a loaf of fresh-baked tasty bread; hard and crusty on the outside, but everything inside is warm, soft, wholesome, and good.

I’m glad I have him as an older brother.

Even if he did burn me, he didn’t mean to, and he was real sorry afterwards- Mab’s punches are no joke.

Lunch that day is whatever I can manage to eat while feeling like parboiled noodles and gelatin. Marco is curled up against his Pop’s side, sleeping. Aw, dammit! I was right. Ace notices me looking, and- FUCKING SHIT!

 

“None of that stinkin’ thinkin’. If you hadn’t said anything, he’d still be hurting. -I’d still be hurting.” says Ace, spinning his spray bottle full of lavender saltwater.

“But- I always do that. I always say things like that, and then people get so mad, and- Animals are much easier. They don’t really get bogged down in all this shit.” I say.

“No?” says Ace.

I shake my head no.

 

“Hmmph. Felix, you’ve always been like this; it’s just who you are, and who you are is a very good person. I mean, you also put marmite in the marzipan fruit, so. You’re not perfect.” says Mab.

“What’s marzipan?” says Ace.

 

Mab sighs. She tells him the story. Ace cackles; it’s a fun story. It's one of my many pranks; not quite as good as when I put Icy-Hot in Aunt Zippy's bra, not quite as funny as the Stinkbait Hickory Tree Moth Couch War, but the Marmite Marzipan Fruitbox is still pretty good.

I don’t hear it from Mab's point of view though, because I’ve passed out next to my lunch pasta.

I’m vaguely aware of her stretching my wings out so they don’t cramp up, but- and I guess I heard gasps because they really are fucking gorgeous; I’ve got a lilac stripe down the center of my spine, and the bases of my wings are emerald green, but- Fuckin’ narcolepsy.

Making me miss out on reliving precious memories.


	7. 03:00; Orange Slices

 

_Dear Zoro,_

_So. I’m not sure how to start this letter. Mab says to just write about what’s going on in life, ask questions of you, and so on. Says to just write, and you’ll write back; says letters are just a written form of conversation. Says that starting with one foot out the door is the fastest way to break whatever’s between us._

_I’m- I’m not really sure how to talk to you, much less write to you. I guess- start at the beginning._

_I really enjoyed the date we went on at Sabaody; and… I liked holding your hand. Thank you for going with me. I think… maybe, if it’s okay, we could go again sometime?_

_Love, Nami_

 

 

_Dear Zoro,_

_Hehehe! I’m going to guess and say when it’s not cold and misty, it’s hot and misty? Pffft._

_Of our date, I remember kissing you, leaning my head against your chest- I remember dancing with you, and that the song we danced to was the best song ever- I don’t remember where we were though, everything that happened, happened so **fast…** Mostly I just remember having a really good time. I’m glad you did too. In the future, I’d really like to have another dance- or maybe even more. ;3 _

_Mm, Cocoyashi Village wasn’t all that big even before Arlong came; it was always a farming village. We- me, Bellemere, and Nojiko- were mostly subsistence farmers, with a tangerine grove we got most of our spending money from. The only other thing that really gets cultivated back in the Coconami Islands is rice. My home island has massive[ fenlands](https://youtu.be/ONGVHbqFUBs) just past the forest ridge, and that’s where most of the fields are. I doubt you guys saw them; Arlong’s goons never really went that far inland. -I think I started learning about meteorology from old farmhands who’d come out seaside for the fresh air; there’s nothing but you, the Land, and the Sky out on the fens. You have to keep an eye on the Sky because there’s literally nothing else to look at but fields; and if you **don't** keep track of what the weather's doing, you could lose your entire harvest. God, the most Conami Islands Thing I can remember is... there was a huge tornado one year, and it drew this snake-trail across the all the inland fields. So like, there's a picture in town hall of Old Man Risty cutting rice down as the fucking tornado snarls behind him, with the quote "I was keepin' an eye on th' damn thing, but the harvest won't get itself in, Swirlwind or no" written across the bottom. There's very little I can think of that's more... homey. Thinking about it now, I think the reason Nojiko and me never moved inland was because we loved the memory of Bellemere too much to be so far from the Sea; neither of us was really all that bothered by the weather, but... Oh, and I guess it would've been a hassle to move the orchard. All in all, there’s not that much to say about Cocoyashi. Tell me about Shimotsuki! _

_Ah, and what are you doing to train? I’m learning to use the Eisen-whip I got from Skypiea; you remember me practicing with the whips Mab made, but I’m good enough now to use the cloud-whip as it was intended. I’m not sure how to combine my staff and the whip into a better weapon for me. I’m almost considering something like a wizard’s staff, like from those ten-beri comics from the conbini? What do you think? Usopp taught me how my clima-tact works, and… I mean. It’s kind of awkward holding a wand and a staff at the same time? I’m not sure what to do._

_Love, Nami_

 

 

_Dear Zoro,_

_Oh_ **_weird_** _. I’m having trouble coming up with a reason why it would rain red like that; although, if the war was nasty enough to kill all the former inhabitants of the island, there’s probably a lot of iron oxide in the atmosphere, which could turn the rain red. It also might be algae; or even a curse, like you said. I’m sending a phial; could you get a sample of the next blood-rain and send it to me? I’d love to study it! Mm- and thank you for your concern. I'm glad I've got someone like you watching out for me! You're right, actually- I **am** a Witch, and I'm going to Witching School to learn proper Magic. I can say, without being facetious, that I would have had no idea where to even begin figuring out what kind of Curse is on Kuraigana, so... I'm glad you asked someone for help who  **could** help you._

_Oh wow. I wonder why he’s training you, when… didn’t he nearly kill you back at the Baratie? That’s **odd,**  Zoro **. Be careful.**  -I didn’t learn to spin thread, that was Nojiko’s job, I was always too wiggly for it. I did basket weaving instead- mostly, I gathered straws for basket weaving, more than I actually wove anything. I could probably make you a hat? I think I still remember how to make hats… I can definitely make you a little basket for small things, though! _

_Don’t worry about the blood; it’d be a little weird to have a letter from you without some sign of you fighting. It’s kind of nice to read you ramble; you always speak so concisely, it’s nice to see how you think, too. Um- tell me if the tangerine-scent is too strong, I got a little carried away with the perfume... Oh, and- I absolutely want to hear the story about the sheep-herding pig! Tell me in your next letter!_

_-I’m in a place called Weatheria, near one of the Five Golden Fruit and Flower Mountains, if that means anything to you. They study and build Hurricanes here, which is terrifying and amazing. I’m enrolled in the two year course for Weather Arts, which has a mandatory component of physical combat. I’ve never had formal training in any kind of martial art except for bojutsu; I guess there’s a first time for everything, right?_

_I do remember Perona- and I’d bet you remember Conis, right? Apparently, when she’s not running her hometown, she teaches here. I’m apprenticed under her, sort of._

_Aaaah♥! You’re really good with kids though, Zoro! Hey- here’s something I remember Bellemere telling me, a long time ago; "if you really want to learn something, you have to teach it to someone else." If the children are giving you trouble- and you wouldn’t mention them if they weren’t, Zoro, don’t lie- teach them basic swordplay! Or maybe how to spin thread? I know Mab will get you stuff for that if you ask her._

_Ugh, I was always glad we had an orchard- it doesn’t matter so much if dead things get left in orchards, it’s just stinky. There’s no ploughing in an orchard, which is why it doesn’t matter so much what gets left in it. You have to be careful not to burn the roots, or anything, but mostly- mostly we just made sure there was enough water for the trees and left them to do their own thing. We sprayed for parasites too, sometimes, or pruned them- because there weren't any deer or animals that would have eaten their leaf-shoots on our side of the Island, y'know. Actually... since there's no "fast" way of lifting that kind of Curse, I'll write to **my** sister; have her send you some seedlings, or give you advice about orchards. They take a long time to grow, but the rewards are totally worth the struggle._

_-Training is hard, Zoro. If it was just studying or just physical training, I’d probably be okay; hell, if it was just both of those, it’d be fine. But these damn spells! I have to memorise so many chants, and all of them are different and- uuuuugh! The struggle is real and I don't like it._

_Oh, hey- do you have to eat weird shit too? They mostly have curries here, which are... It’s okay, I guess, but it’s also really **really** boring to eat after the fourth month of nothing but curry. I miss Sanji’s cooking. Hope you’re getting better food. _

_Love, Nami_

 

 

_Dear Zoro,_

_The sample you got for me is plenty, thank you. I tested it, and it’s just iron oxide, which is not too dangerous to be out in; but I can't imagine it being very pleasant. I know how you hate the smell of rust, and that rainfall you sent me smells like rust. Sorry about your shirt, too; you didn’t have to get it all stained for me! New shirt time already? You must have gone through a growth spurt._

_People are always owing Mab favors; I think she collects them. More importantly, Perona and Mihawk are in some kind of relationship? Like… oh, he’s my landlord, or- are they lovers? Can you tell? I need details. Most of the people I’m training with are in their young teens, and they are trifling little shits, I- I can hardly stand it. Just. Ugh, the worst._

_I'm sorry I brought up such a painful subject, Zoro. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just thought it would be a funny story, but... sometimes stories that sound funny on the outside are awful on the inside._

_I’ll send you a charm bracelet- or maybe a magatama? I found_ _[a greenish one](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1U78AMXXXXXcgXpXXq6xXFXXXm/Classic-natural-white-opal-moonstone-35-20mm-font-b-magatama-b-font-pendant-top-quality-charms.jpg) _ _the other day… I think it’s made of moonstone? It’s weird, it’s got this see through pearlescence. I think you’d like it. Keep it as a token from me, maybe…? ;3_

_They sell and make windchimes here as part of the everyday worship of the gods; I got an extra one for a buy one, get one free deal. The free one wasn’t as nice as the one I bought for myself, but I thought of you when I saw it- so I’m sending you the one I bought, and keeping the one that makes me think of you. Try not to get a swelled head. ;3_

_I’d say the same about training with Dracule Mihawk, but I get the feeling you already know. Mm- we’ve been reviewing safety drills again, people keep being stupid and getting really hurt. -Tell me a story for Ostara (if you can’t come over)?_

_You get "sort of" apprenticed the same way you get "sort of" a new sensei in the form of a deadly enemy- you **ask.** And it’s only sort-of because Conis isn’t a master, she’s a journeyman- she can’t actually take me on as an apprentice. It’s kind of a pain, actually; there’s tax breaks for apprentices, but… I’m in a weird legal limbo. _

_How_ **_are_ ** _those kids treating you?_

_Oh, hey- did you read the article about the Skuan Contract with Mariejois? It sounds to me like Perona was seriously involved in the War of the Paramount. I had no idea that Skua takes contract law so seriously, although why Mariejois agreed to some of those subclauses is beyond me; they really did break Fair Trade. I guess all those old stories about the Fae upholding the letter of the law before the spirit aren't actually stories, huh?_

_-Oh **no,** I’m so sorry- I think I can send you some dried fruit snacks if you want? I know you prefer savory snacks, but… I think I can add spicy flavorings, maybe? Would that be okay? _

_(I’m considering whether I want to do you or not, for Ostara. Like- sex. Me and you. Interested?)_

_Love, Nami_

 

 

_Dear Zoro,_

_Oh **my** god. Perona and Mihawk?!? ...Are they happy together? I mean- I guess if they are, I can’t complain, but isn’t he like, forty? And she’s nearly twenty years younger- that’s… kinda weird. I mean- I guess it’s okay? She’s as adult as Mab is, and Mab’s basically a little old lady in a young woman’s body. I swear to god she has candy in her purse- don’t laugh, ask her next time you see her, she totally does! _

_-I think I can weave a lanyard. It should be nice for your token; I’ve started knotting it, started as soon as I got your letter. Mm, how’s you’re amphitheater going? I heard about it from Robin- it sounds like a lot of work. You going to put on plays there?_

_Zoro! Saying shit like that when I’m not there to enjoy it! Aaargh! I’m so **horny!** Everyone here is either fourteen or eighty or Conis, fuuuuuuuuuucking- AAAaaaaaaaaaaaargh! I want to have sex so badly, we were heading towards heavy petting before everything went to shit! If we were in the same place, we’d be having sex by now! Fucking- Sorry. I'm very- frustrated._

_-I should return the favor. I don’t have a Fairytale, but… Try this on for size. It’s a story of Cocoyashi, passed from mouth to ear to mouth again in Est, since before the words were caught on paper._

 

 

 

> * * *
> 
> _There was a time before this one, and in it there lived a hunter named Dã Tràng. Everyday he would take his bow and arrows and head to the forest in search for worthy prey. He followed the same trail every time he hunted, passing by the same shrine along the way where lived two spotted serpents, which he feared at first, but as they never harmed him, he became accustomed of their presence. Later, he grew fascinated of their graceful movements and the remarkable beauty and shimmer of their scales._
> 
>  
> 
> _On the way to hunting one day, Dã Tràng heard a great noise coming from the shrine, so he came close to see. Witnessing a furious struggle between the two spotted serpents and a huge deadly snake, he quickly took his bow and arrow and fired at the unfamiliar fiery creature, cutting through its neck while it quickly slithered off into the forest. One of the spotted snakes set out in pursuit of the wounded attacker while the other laid lifeless on the ground. Full of pity, Dã Tràng buried it before the shrine._
> 
>  
> 
> _During his sleep that night, Dã Tràng dreamt about receiving a strange visit from the surviving serpent. It thanked him for saving them from danger and for giving its mate an honorable burial. As a token of gratitude, the serpent dropped a shiny white pearl from its mouth and said, “Place this pearl beneath your tongue as this will help you understand the language of animals. This will greatly help you as you hunt.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Dã Tràng woke up and found a beautiful pearl beside his pillow. Recalling everything the serpent had told him in his dream, he placed the peal beneath his tongue as he set out for the forest to hunt that day. The first animal that he chanced upon was a deer. But when his arrow missed, the deer ran off to hide. To his surprise, a crow screamed, “I see the deer’s flight, it’s a hundred paces to the right”._
> 
>  
> 
> _Having understood the crow’s language, he realized that what the serpent said about the pearl was indeed true. So he followed the crow’s advice and easily brought down his prey. Again, the crow spoke to Dã Tràng asking for its reward. In return, the hunter gave the bird all the deer’s parts which served him no use. Since then, Dã Tràng and the crow agreed to hunt together. As the bird leads him to the prey, the hunter would have to leave the entrails on the ground for the crow to feed on._
> 
>  
> 
> _Everyday, both Dã Tràng and the crow would keep their part of the bargain and help each other hunt. One afternoon, Dã Tràng had shot and killed a wild pig. As usual, he cut the pig open and left its entrails on the ground for the crow but another bird came and stole them. When the crow arrived and discovered nothing had been left, it angered the bird greatly and assumed that Dã Tràng failed to leave his share._
> 
>  
> 
> _Quickly, it flew to the hunter’s house and protested. Dã Tràng insisted that he left the entrails as promised. But the bird did not believe him and accused him of being a liar. The young man became angry by this. He fired an arrow at the crow, but missed. The crow seized the arrow with its claws, furiously screaming its revenge, and flew off. Several days later, Dã Tràng was arrested. A poisoned arrow bearing his name had been discovered in the body of a drowned man. In spite of his protests of innocence, he was thrown to jail._
> 
>  
> 
> _The young man then spent days and weeks in prison. One day, he noticed a parade of ants on the prison walls, hurrying by with food on their shoulders. Curious to know the reason for such hurry, he called out to the ants and inquired. The tiny creatures told him that a great flood is coming. Dã Tràng told the guard to pass on the warning, who, reported this to the warden and hastened to inform the king. Though skeptical, the king ordered that the necessary measures be taken. And indeed, three days later, a very big flood swept across the land._
> 
>  
> 
> _Grateful for having saved everyone in the kingdom, the king ordered Dã Tràng to be released from prison and appointed the young man as his adviser. Dã Tràng used his abilities to keep the kingdom safe from storms and floods, and to receive news from the birds and horses when enemy armies are approaching from a distance. But he never revealed the source of his powers._
> 
>  
> 
> _On one beautiful spring morning, as Dã Tràng went sailing with the king, he heard strange voices beneath the waves. Looking over the side, he saw a cuttlefish swimming alongside the royal barge, singing a joyous tune. The sight of the cuttlefish singing and rolling along with the waves amused the young man greatly. Dã Tràng began to laugh, and soon he was laughing uncontrollably. As he did, the pearl slipped from his mouth and fell into the water._
> 
>  
> 
> _Appalled, Dã Tràng leaped from the boat and began desperately searching the waters. He quickly called out to the king and told him of his precious pearl and that his men should help him find it. So the king ordered dozens of his men to wade out into the shallows and churn the waters in search of the pearl, but their efforts were fruitless._
> 
>  
> 
> _The following day, Dã Tràng continued his search. Still, he found nothing. Day after day, week after week, he never stopped searching. Months and years passed, Dã Tràng stayed by the seashore, still searching and sifting through handfuls of sand, but he never found the pearl again. He wept endlessly over his irretrievable loss. He retreated to misery, and soon, Dã Tràng died an unhappy and discontented man._
> 
>  
> 
> _He passed on his inconsolable soul to the tiny sand crabs of Est, which, if you notice, scurry from hole to hole, endlessly turning every grain of sand in an attempt to search for the magic pearl._
> 
>  
> 
> _An’ my lips to your ear, this tale is done. I beg of you, tell it to another, and in doing so, save their life._
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

_-I’m better, now. Bellemere told me that a long time ago, so, sorry if some of the words are splotchy. It’s funny- you think you’re over something and then you find another new little piece that stabs into you. The story you shared was… I hadn’t heard it before. It seems simple enough, but- god, I can’t imagine myself ever doing something like that. Although… I can imagine **Sanji** doing something like that. I guess that’s what makes it a Fairytale, huh? _

_...I miss you. I miss talking to you- letters are nice but I miss your voice. I miss touching you, and kissing you, and eating meals with you. The food is terrible but it’d taste better with you here. Everything's better when I get a letter from you; the constant chiming of the winds sounds sweeter for reading your words._

_(If you’re interested, I’ll be waiting. Let Mab know when you’re ready to come over. I’m free all weekend~!)_

_Love, Nami_

 

 

_~~Dear~~   _

 

_~~Beloved~~   _

 

_~~Hey, Lover~~ _

 

_~~Zoro, love~~ _

 

_~~Zoro... was it something I said?~~ _

 

 

_Zoro, are you okay?_

_-Nami_

 

 

_Zoro, talk to me, please._

_-Nami_

 

 

* * *

 

**_“ZORO OH MY GOD. I’M COMING OVER.”_ **

  

* * *

 

 

_Zoro,_

_...I liked what you said. I liked sleeping next to you. I liked it that you held me as we slept. I like it when you touch me, and I had forgotten how much due to the enforced distance between us. Please, put your shame out of the room; there’s nothing wrong with having sexual interest in someone. I- I like that you have sexual interest in me._

_I don’t mind your interest- I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say it for you to believe me, but it’s true. You would **know** if I didn’t like your advances because I would **tell** you. Please don’t ever talk to yourself like that again- you’re not weird or gross or wrong, please- please don’t shut me out. _

_-I wear_ _[the necklace](http://www.thejewelleryeditor.com/media/images_thumbnails/filer_public_thumbnails/filer_public/7b/e3/7be3a1f8-a95f-4050-9c3d-ad6c57b1c032/autore_pearl_necklace.jpg__1536x0_q75_crop-scale_subsampling-2_upscale-false.jpg) _ _you made for me everyday; I feel weird without it. Like, naked. It’s a beautiful piece- maybe after you become the Greatest, you could have a side-job as a jeweller? That could be fun._

_~~You don’t remember what you said, do you?~~  ...I liked being called Miss Tangerine Witch. _

_You know… I like you. For your personality._

_Love, Nami_

_P. S. I'm pen-pals with Dracule Mihawk now. Maybe consider having a manly conversation with him? He's- he's a very lonely man and he has no idea what he's doing except in a fight, it's actually quite sad. You know more about handling small children- teach him, please. He needs your help._

 

 

_Dear, Zoro_  

_I know._

_It surprised me too._

_Love, Nami_

 

 

_Dear, Zoro_

_I love you, too._

_Love you, really; Nami._

 

 

_My Dearest, Zoro,_  

_I’ve been meaning to write this for a while- and after we had our first time on Midsummer, and you told me about how much your mind expanded during sword training…_

_Weather Arts is based on Observation Haki, on what they call Seeing and Knowing. I’m one of the only people in the World who has come so close to True Mastery without being taught anything- I understand the Weather in ways it’s really hard to explain without getting very technical, which would bore you. But… there’s a level to Weather Arts I can’t reach without getting pregnant. It's described as a Primal Transformation, and... Weather Mages, which I'm training to become, can't physically, spiritually, or mentally master the Weather Arts until they've been pregnant. It's- it's wrong to get pregnant just to get ahead in training, but... with the Marines so scattered, and the World in such turmoil... I don’t- I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but… I think… I think if you were the one I fornicated with, I wouldn’t be upset about it. I mean- there might never be a "better time", and- I just._

_I- I could couch it in terms of training, but… my teachers and my senpais have told me that having a baby for training purposes is not the right reason to have a baby. Or rather- I’ve come to that conclusion on my own. I want to have a baby because… because I think I’d be a good mom, and I want to try, and… I love you. And I want to be with you. And I want to have a baby with you, if you’d like. So, um… if it’s okay with you, I can stop taking birth control, and we can stop using condoms, and just… see what happens? I mean. It's not like **you'd** be a bad parent, and... it's not like our crewmates wouldn't help look after them, and..._

_-Um. Anyway, my training has gotten very- odd. I’m not really training in the magical arts so much now, I’m training in applications- mostly field work, herding various weather formations into their proper courses. I've already taken the Mastery Test; I'm what's called a Calling Mage now, which means I've mastered the basic to intermediary forms. I can't master the advanced stuff without getting pregnant- but, well, I don't really need the advanced stuff for field work. Field work is hard work, but- fulfilling._

_I think being parents together would be like that too._

_Love you, Nami_

 

 

_My dearest, Zoro,_

_Did you know that of the sense-memories, scent is one of the strongest? How lucky for you that the scent of your last letter brought back so many wonderful memories of the two of us together! I got wetter and wetter just from a whiff of your letter, from a mere sniff; keeping it in my pillowcase is impractical, but_ **_so rewarding._ **

_I just can’t wait to see you again!_

_Teasing aside, I actually like the smell of your spunk; it has a slightly bleachy smell that’s undercut with your musky sweat, and the taste… I guess it’s because of all the fresh vegetables you eat? It tastes really green, Zoro. It’s a nice taste! But it’s very green._

_I knew you had a fetish- most people do, it’s not terribly weird- but damn! That’s a really awkward way to find out about yours. You don’t even like Perona like that; it must have been really confusing and icky-bad-wrong to think about her like that when she was so heavily pregnant! I’m sorry that happened to you, Zoro._

_I’m glad you’re so honest about what you like about this fetish- and… I guess the idea of you dominating me in that way, and everyone being able to see, instantly, what you’ve done to me- oh, I’m getting hot and wet and bothered just thinking about it, Zoro. I’m glad you find the idea of caring for me while I’m so… transformed- hmm._

_Now, the devil in my pants is telling me to describe what I’d look like if I were pregnant as much as possible right here and now, so you can have the same kind of reaction to this letter that I did yours. Hm. Well, I’m fresh out of angels- you’ll have to tell me if you don’t like this._

_I like the idea of my flat belly becoming hard and round and gently squirming with our babies. I like the idea of my bras and swim-tops becoming tight and of my breasts becoming so large they start to bulge and overflow and spill out of my bra cups. I like the idea that my nipples will go from their pale-peachy color, to the color of a fresh strawberry or peach, or even darker, like they’ve tanned. There’ll be a dark fuzzy stripe down the middle of my bulging belly, Zoro; a dark orange fuzzy stripe, and I’ll have it for the rest of my life because you’ll pour your hot strong spunk deep inside of me and fill me up with your strong babies._

_I’d have to sleep on my side, and my belly all full of our babies would rest on your stomach, and you’d get to feel every shift and squirm of your strong children; you’d get to see their little hands pressing against my womb, and you’d get to feel their little kicks. You’d get to hold me and caress me and gently massage my breasts to encourage the milk to come; and you’d get to suckle the first drops of milk from me, to make sure it’s sweet and good and ready for them._

_Aaah, and the making of them- you’d have to have so much sex with me, you’d have to fill my womb again and again with your spunk to make sure I conceive, to make absolutely sure that I would be full to bursting with your strong babies- aah, that’s a good thought too~!_

_With that said… I mean._

 

_Zoro, sweetheart, **I like BDSM.**_

 

_I have_ **_many ideas_ ** _for how we can incorporate your fetish into our lovemaking, if you wanted. I guess I wasn’t comfortable talking to you about what_ **_I_ ** _like in bed before because we hadn’t actually gotten that far- but now we have, and many times, and… I’d like to give you what you want, and I’d like to get what I want, and the best way to do that is to talk to each other honestly._

_So._

_Before you give yourself a headache trying to ask me politely what BDSM is, I’m just going to tell you. BDSM stands for Bondage, Dominance, Sadism, and Masochism. If you’ve ever seen pornography of people being tied up, or beaten, or whipped- that can be a part of BDSM. I, personally, like Dominance. I like Dominating my partners; and I like **being** Dominated too._

_Zoro, all that stuff I say when we’re in bed together- that’s a really basic form of dominance. If you don’t like the way I do it, or if you don’t like how I’m saying something, you_ **_have to tell me_ ** _. It’s not about making you feel bad about yourself, or being weak- it’s about… for me, it’s about… you know how sometimes you just want to eat something really spicy because it’s thrilling? It’s like that, I think- It should be like that, it should be a little (or a lot) thrilling. If it hurts, it’s not right, and you can’t enjoy it, and if you’re not enjoying it_ **_I don’t want to do it._** _That's why one of the first things I made you do was pick the word that would make us Stop, and talk- and that's why I have one, too. It's only fun if we're **both** having fun._

_Most importantly of all though… with BDSM especially, but really any relationship- you have to be clear, open, and honest; and no, those don’t mean the same thing._

_When I say you have to be clear, what I mean is you have to say what you want- no metaphors, no politeness, no cutesy backing out. If you want me to suck on your balls, you have to say “I want you to suck on my balls.” If you want me to swallow your cum, you have to say “I want you to swallow my come.” If you want to get me pregnant, you have to say “I want to get you pregnant.” And I have to be clear about what I'm willing to do, too- "I'll suck on your dick, not your balls", "I'll swallow your cum", "Please get me pregnant", ect._

_When I say you have to be open, what I mean is: because I am so often the Dominant or “Master” in our sexual relations, you may have come to the conclusion that I am, in fact, in charge. In actuality, it is a partnership where_ **_you_ ** _, Zoro, are leading. You’re leading because you, as the Submissive- and I don’t like the word “Slave” being used to describe this relationship but it’s what’s used in most literature about this- You’re leading because you have the power to say when we “go” and when we “stop”. You’re the one who says “harder” or “more” or “too much” or “like this”; and I follow_ **_you_** _. It might feel like, in the moment, I’m doing whatever I want with your body- but, really,_ **_I’m only doing what you tell me to do_** _. Being open means being aware of the fact that_ **_you are leading this dance_ ** _and that_ **_I can’t give you what you don’t ask for_** _. Similarly, if I'm the one being tied up, I'm the one that says "harder" or "more" or "too much" or "stop"; and I have to ask for what I want._

_Finally, honesty. It’s the keystone of every relationship; and for this… Zoro, I won’t know if you liked or didn’t like something just by how you reacted in the scene. When we’re together and I do something like, like pretend that you’re my servant or my minion or something like that- that’s called a scene, because we’re just playing. I don’t think of you like that- you’re not my servant, you’re my boyfriend. I love you, and I care about you, and I want you to be happy and content. But the only way I can know- for sure- that you had just as much fun as I did, is if you_ **_tell me_** _. Tell me if I go too far! Tell me if I don’t go far enough! Tell me if you like something, or don’t like something! And the only way for you to know for sure if I had fun is if I tell you!_

_I’m glad you feel comfortable sharing this part of yourself with me; and I’m actually very interested in exploring it with you. A-and not just hypothetically- if, ah, if it’s okay… I’d like you to get me pregnant. I mean. If you wanted to. And we could get married, too. I mean._

_Love, Nami_

 

 

_Zoro,_

_Holy fucking fuck that last letter was hot. I orgasmed so hard through my panties that there’s a permanent stain in the shape of my labia on the fabric now. They're **ruined** , you wonderful man. Absolutely  **ruined.**_

_Reading your letter, I found a new fetish- the idea of being hugely pregnant, and then marrying you… oh god, Zoro, I came for hours on that thought alone. I guess… it’s interesting, I didn’t realize that I could like the same kinds of things you like without it being weird. -Reading your thoughts about my breasts and me wearing bras that don’t fit made me laugh and also… It made me feel really cared for. I don’t have to do that, Zoro; thank you for telling me how you really feel about it. Thank you for caring about me. Thank you for loving me._

_I- ah, rereading your letter in tandem with writing this one might not have been the best idea._

_-Sorry, I had to go get a towel to sit on. Here we go-_

_**I want you to get me pregnant.** I want your strong thick dick to fill my pussy with your hot spunk; I want my womb to be full to bursting with your seeds. I want you to breed me, I want you to mark me as _ **_yours;_ ** _I want you to fill me with your babies. I want to have babies with you, Zoro; I want you to be there for every shift and wiggle and squirm, I want you to see and touch and hear and feel my belly swelling and I want you to be the father of my children. I don’t know how many children I’ll want to have, Zoro, but… seventy three is a good number, don’t you think? ;3 Or if that’s way too many… how about we start with three and see where that takes us?_

_-Talk to Mab about that; I think we can actually do it. I mean- there’s lots of different ways to have a baby, and Mab knows nearly all of them. If it’s possible for you to make me orgasm so hard my water breaks, she’ll know. If it’s possible to make me come our babies out, she’ll know. She also knows all the best positions for having sex while I’m pregnant, so- I mean. If we can do that safely, I’m all for it._

_Oh god, Zoro- I want that too._

_Oh god, Zoro- I want that so much._

_I’ll let you._

_I want you to plant them deep and often._

_I want you to be pleased with what we have wrought._

_I want you to watch me._

_My pussy’ll swallow it all, Zoro._

_I want you to ruin my panties forever, Zoro._

_I want you to fill me with your babies, and hold me as they grow, and hold them when they’re here, and love them and love me and-_

_I want you to fuck babies into me._

_Zoro, I want to marry you and have lots and lots of babies together._

_If we do that- if you marry me after fucking babies into me, making me so round and heavy- we can actually have our crewmates at our wedding; you know they won’t care. It’ll be a sexy secret between the two of us: just why, exactly, we waited so long._

_Zoro, sweetheart-_ **_I want you more._ **

**_I want you I want you I want you more._ **

_I want you to fuck a baby into me and then marry me; oh god, that would be so_ **_hot._ ** _And- of course I want lots and lots of babies with you! As many as we can manage!_

_Zoro; I will marry you. Yes. Yes, I will marry you. If you just want to get married so we don’t have to think about it anymore- we can scrap all the, the fucking-babies-then-marrying things and just get married and have babies- Zoro, I want to marry you._

_I want you and I love you and I want to marry you, Zoro. There’s my Answer._

_Love, Nami_

 

 

_Zoro,_

_You promise?_

_Nami_

 

 

_Zoro,_  

_Even a short letter from you is better than nothing at all. Gah- I always know in the back of my mind that my penny pinching ways are going to bite someone in the ass. Sorry the typewriter showed it’s age at such an inopportune time!_

_You’re right- I don’t care so much about beautiful turns of phrase, or elegant typography. I care about the words, and their meaning- I care about you. So, I guess in a roundabout way, I care about the aesthetics of the letters you send me too. Or rather- I really care that the letters you send me… I care that you care._

_You write beautifully, Zoro- for now, your beautiful words are all I can stand to have._

 

_And our Promise is more beautiful still._

 

_If my letters are a balm, your letters are a kindling- a blaze in my heart, a fire in my guts. Your every careful word encourages me, brightens my dreary days. The necklace you made me is tangible proof of your love, your beauty; I’ve stolen it back from no less than three envious souls, and it fills my heart with glee to know that other people can see the wondrous rarity of your love. If you are a lucky man, then I am the luckiest woman to ever live._

_A stack of letters, a necklace; a promise and a woman’s heart. Oh yes, Zoro- You have my heart, Mister Seaweed Swordsman, son of the Este Shore. Remember that, okay?_

_You have me, too._

_I love you._  

_Nami_


	8. 15:00; A Consideration of the Extensive Magi-Medicinal Uses of Moonshine

List it out, Easy; make a list of the boozes, and note the ones left undone.

 

Th’ones I got: Snake Juice, Doomshine, Fetching Fizz, Falling Malt, Stabsinthe, Whale Ale, Bastion Bourbon, Werewhiskey, Leechade, Bull Brandy, Black Tonic, and Healthy Tonic Water.

 

Th’effects are as follows.

 

Snake Juice… according to Cousin Lafitte, who in general never tries to speak with people; when he drinks Snake Juice, he does like speaking with people, which is a dam’near ringin’ endorsement. We mostly break it out at weddings, funerals, births, and graduation parties- the secret ingredient is snake venom from a snake fought in single combat, it’s spiteful heart pierced with an iron spike and it’s massive body coiled inside a clear glass bottle. Concerning the creation of Snake Juice- alls I wanted was to eat the snake that was more spiteful than the other snakes and to absorb its power and enjoy a nice Snake Kiev but Mom said no. So here we are.

Oh, you can make Chicken Kiev with all kinds of things what ain’t chicken- ain’t even birds, you can use snakes and lizards, too. Just have to be careful about the kind of breadcrumb you use, is all.

Oh, yeah- an’ if the eyes of the snake in th’ bottle follow you ‘round, it means the booze is Lucky.

 

Doomshine’s a risk with every mouthful; it makes you luckier in a fight- don’t ask me how, it just does- but it also makes you just a touch weaker than you normally would be. It tastes rancid and spicy, like a mouthful of Aunt Tiny’s killer fishsauce which is just leftovers from her stinkbait business mixed with some of Mom’s favorite extra spicy horseradish. For reasons I cannot comprehend, some barrels of her stinkbait don’t pass muster, so she turns them into fish sauce and the fish sauce is **_good._ ** It was also the first one I ever managed to figure out the secret of- the fish have to be alive before you throw them in the barrel.

 

Fetching Fizz is a cocktail, not actually a full on spirit on it’s own; and I don’t like using it all that often, especially where there’s heavy machinery or anywhere near Mom’s forge. You only need to get stuck to an Anvil too heavy for you to drag yourself off of for the afternoon the once to develop a distaste. Mom wouldn’t stop laughing was the worst part; and the cocktail isn’t even that good! The lore says it started as a barroom prank, and then became popular with charnel workers. It honestly tastes like a mouth full’a nails- but there are certain parts of Skua where it’s very helpful to have a very powerful magnetic force on you. Mostly where you need to wall walk. It’s also helpful to use with my bullhead shield- found it in the Ruins outside town, and it can block anything. Also handy for curling up under out in the Wilds.

 

Falling Malt is what I made when I learned I wouldn’t ever become a Fairy; my body can’t support the wings and the muscles I’d need to fly and not hurt myself. My rib cage is too big. It’s one of the most ancient of the spirits, made by mountaineers who swore up and down that it helped them keep a sure footing in high altitudes. I can attest that it does, and also, oddly, makes a body fall slower. It tastes… very dry, it’s a very dry spirit with flavors of pepper, peppermint, and river gravel. Slight taste of seaweed because of how I roast the peppermint; sort of an iodized salty twang right at the end. It’s best to strain it when taking it out of the bottle. To combat the really volatile flavors like in cheap Norten vodka, I crunch up sticks of activated charcoal into it. It results in a very smooth spirit, with lots of little chunky bits in the bottom. To serve, I usually put some real fine muslin over the mouth of the bottle and rubber-band it on to save time.

 

Stabweed is this horrible little hell-plant from our ancient homeland that took to the Skies like ducks to water. They’re thorny little nightmares with sweet red flowers; the nectar of those flowers is the main flavoring ingredient in Stabsinthe, along with ground up and refined needles from the plants and a few other bobbles and bits. It’s a waxy liquor that’s actually on the beer end of the spectrum of booze, a nice light… nearly a light cider, honestly. Spitting up the prickles is rude, but effective, and I’ve practiced spitting them deep into the rings of a bullseye. It tastes like… like drinking a cool, sweet breeze. It will also fuck a bitch up when taken in conjunction with the other liquors of my distillery, so I try really hard not to drink it more often than I have to. When I go picking stabweed for distilling purposes, it’s a rare day I don’t get at least one rammed through the meat of my hand. The damn things hurt worse than a broken heart- n-not that I’d know or anything.

 

Whale Ale- the real shit, not the modern pisswater, is brewed without any kind of bittering agents. The bittering gets added after the bottling process. It was known in ancient times for it’s light, refreshing taste, and it’s extreme longevity. Island Whales have absolutely no part in the creation of Whale Ale, although it will make you strong like one. It also makes special, named techniques a full fourth stronger than they would be normally. The fresh-brewed is quite nice, but the stuff meant for long voyages is surely an acquired taste. I usually drink it when I’m eel hunting; those fuckers are no joke and I need the boost. For the amounts of eel slime I need… just so many live eels, and then I have to let the fuckers go, and they don’t like anyone. I mean, they’re starting to tolerate me because I never eat them, I’ve lost all taste for eel pie, so… I mean they’ve got a certain bemused tolerance for getting excess eel slime swiped off into a jar. Or at least the swarm that lives offshore near Mom’s house has. The [ common Skuan eel ](http://img03.deviantart.net/c137/i/2014/289/f/6/tynamo___eelektrik___eelektross_by_hcma-d834350.png) is an aerial carnivorous migratory fish. They have electrical powers, mouths full of teeth, and a mild hatred of the unknown. Sixteen fully grown men get carried off by hungry swarms of eels at least twice a year. Presumably, to be devoured.

Their babies are cute though- the school mother let me see the newest brood of babies. For Lifewine, I actually need slime from the babies, but… I’m getting there. Felix talked me through making friends of the local eel school the first few times, and… I mean. I wouldn’t mind having an eel-friend. They’re only a little bitey, it really feels like… like being attacked by an open zipper, it’s not actually that bad, it’s that they go for the eyes. Seeing that many teeth coming for your eyes is just… it sticks with you!

 

Bastion Bourbon is a delightful herbal brew with powerful restorative properties; not actually a bourbon as such, it’s most basic form is as a restorative tisane. As soon as I stumbled across the proper mixture of herbs and spices, I made a big sachet of it. After each one of my adventures, I pull a hot bath and soak in the herbal tisane; always perks me right back up in time for school again. When served as a bourbon, which is in all honesty a product of preservation, it’s got a warm buttery flavor with hints of citrus and berry. If kept in a bottle close to the skin, allowing for body heat to permeate the brew, the entire potion has a much more potent effect. It also makes Healthy Tonic Water more potent, by a factor of… five, I think? So it changes the normal potency of Tonic Water from closing scrapes and making fresh bruises fade to nothing- into fixing broken bones and sucking abdominal wounds. It also tastes really good; ‘s’a warm, buttery flavor.

 

Werewhiskey is made primarily of rattle-tail whiskers. It’s a drink you take when you’re getting in a fight above your weight-class; it makes every punch and kick count, but only kicks in when you’re on the ropes. It doesn’t have a scent, but tastes like a peppered bootheel. You could also drink it if you’re on the verge of death and need to carry on a ways more, but I hesitate to call it anything other than battlefield medicine. Definitely an acquired taste. Hunting down rattle-tails for their whiskers, I got peppered with enough meteorites to make a fang-repeater a good investment. Picking those fuckers off before I get in close makes it all a bit more worthwhile. Also makes it easier to harvest ‘em for more parts and such.

 

Leechade is what I take when I know I’m going to get in a fight at school. It’s made with the syrup and essential oils of fresh picked lemons and limes. Secret ingredient is leeches that have been fed on the blood of catfish that live in murky, algae green waters. It… there’s no real way to say it, it gives you the power to heal a little bit every time you strike a foe. It tastes so sour I always perk up a bit after drinking it, especially when I’m feeling low. It’s also nice on really hot, sticky days; feels cooling and refreshing taking a sip.

 

Back in the ancient days, there was a bull god named Pyth. There was a brandy brewed in honor of him; said to be thicker than paint and make your skin feel as tough as knifebark. Knifebark off a zulwood tree can still be used to shank a bitch; I’ve got a knifebark shank as part of my adventure kit. That piece of wood will not bend, will not break, will not- well, no, it’ll burn, but… Mostly I have it to keep the keen edge of my War Machete sharp. (I’ve also got a Cael Hammer that Mom made, but Gable took to it; I got her War Machete in return, so I guess it’s a fair trade. I’m certainly not giving it back. Um- the hammer is named 'Prospectus', and the machete is named 'Inquiries'. Names are Important, Unequivocally.)

 

As for Black Tonic and Healthy Tonic Water… I’ll get there when I get there.

 

 

One’s I ain’t got yet: Dreadrum, Lionbird Liqueur, Mender Mead, Stonebrick Stout, Graver Gimlet, Cham-Pain, Troupple Jack, Vineapple Cider, Bloodrootbeer, Hearty Punch, Black Rye, Lifewine, and Hop-Scotch.

 

Their effects _should be_ as follows.

 

Dreadrum should be a pungent concoction that calms the senses and steadies the nerves. It were favored in the old days by Headbreakers and other fighting forces. It’s brewed with a potent mixture of Swampweeds and wild herbs, making its effect as bold as it’s flavor.

 

Lionbird Liqueur is supposed to have a bitter leathery flavor what comes from bits of roasted Lionbird feathers. Was believed to improve reflexes. It was said that a sip of Lionbird Liqueur will toughen you right up; too bad it's like drinking a saddlebag.

 

Mender Mead is supposed to be filled with herbs and vitamins that promote wellness. It’s to have a fragrant herbal bouquet. Folks said Mender Mead's good for you. It was like an herb garden in full bloom. Aside from Lifewine, which this adventure was all about, Mender Mead is the one I’m closest to recreating. It mostly comes down to the ratios of herbs, and finding the right honey- haven’t quite got it yet, but I’m close.

 

Stonebrick Stout had spicy, nutty flavors and a dry aftertaste. Said to be very heavy and filling. The stout was said to go down smooth; then it would stay in your guts like rocks.

 

Graver Gimlet’s a photosensitive beverage with a mild chalky flavor, brewed underground. It’s potent effects come and go unpredictably. It’s supposed to taste different the longer you swish it around. Miraculous stuff. There are ingredients in the Tomb Hills that I can’t get at yet, I don’t have the Badge that would let me go there yet. Haven’t passed the exams yet. Soon. Tilly's helping me.

 

Cham-pain was a Sickness-inducing mixture brewed from aged Scumbag secretion. Imbibed as a rite of passage, back before Snake Juice existed. Cham-Pain's made with carefully aged Scumsucker Fish Liver extract, hence the bloody aroma...and the nausea. Which don't make much sense to me right now- a Scumbag is a kind of fruit, and it's an entirely poisonous fruit. Scumsuckers are a kind of fish that... oh now that's interestin'. Dunno how's I'm supposed to get at the big fish... I'll talk to Jackie, she'll have an idea. Or she'll do it for me, more like.

 

Troupple Jack was a whiskey made of fermented vineapple cider spiked with Troupple Ichor; originally just a way to keep the ichor shelf stable, it became it’s own special brew after a while. Mostly a curiosity; I’m making it for completion’s sake.

 

Vineapple Cider is a favorite of nearly every person over the age of ten; a summer drink. It’s vineapple juice and pulp, a little yeast, and some added sugar water if it’s a wet year. Um- celery salts, pepper-black, a few other things... Tastes like memories; Mab’s husband Sanji says it tastes like Bloody Mary Mixer.

 

Bloodrootbeer is a a small beer I’ve had when Granuna comes down from her cave during the winter; it’s made from blood-beets and herbs and as soon as I have my badge and a proper loadout, I’ll head up to her house. She’s promised to teach me how to make it already- I just have to go up and learn.

 

Hearty Punch was an aromatic beverage served piping hot. According to folk tales it could almost wake the dead; said to be so zesty it'd let a man carry on even through the worst of times.

 

Black Rye had the fullness and texture of hearty stew. Said to improve short-term memory; just like hot vineapple chowder on a cold day. Brings back memories- or it might say Memoria. It’s a Syreene drink.

 

Hop-scotch- it’s not all that well recorded, but what I can make out is a bright, scratchy scotch. Usually brought out at the fun kind of dance parties; and as soon as you sit down, you feel it all through your legs.

 

Lifewine’s supposed to be creamy, with nutty flavors said to bring about courage and confidence.

Favorite drink of Gunslingers and other risk-taking sorts. It's so rich, they say it's brought men back from the brink for one last taste.

 

 

 

So, every member of my family has something they really love doing. Some of them love making burgers, like Uncle Ray-Ray. Some of them love making weapons, like Mom. For me, Easy-

Ezra, but Mom forgot that Ezra’s a boy name, one of the very few in Skua. I am not a boy, I’m a girl- I’ll be a woman one day, too. My cross-punch is gettin’ real good, but [ my hat’s ](http://i.imgur.com/3QyTku0.jpg?1) gettin’ kinda beat up. Anyway, the best Mab could do for my nickname was Easy, and she was six when she came up with them and they’re just stuck now. S’a bit… well, my uppercut has been near lethal for years now.

 

Anyway, my thing is booze. I could say something about how I got into moonshinin’ but honestly, that’s not important.

 

What _is_ important is the receipt for Lifewine. An ancient spirit from the first days of the Skuan people; it’s said to have a creamy, nutty flavor which brings on courage and confidence. It was the ancient favorite of risk-taking sorts; men are said to have dragged themselves back from the brink just for another sip. It’s a wine, and made of the flowers that grow in the gorse thickets of Daire’s ancient holdfast. I can’t actually get into the gorse thickets of Daire’s ancient holdfast without going through a trial.

 

I actually have untranslated receipts of all the ancient spirits; but… they get progressively harder to make as the effects of the drinks get more esoteric. Lifewine is the first big jump up in difficulty, necessitating me giving Quests to my sisters, going eel hunting with a net, and milking venomous octopuses for their deadly poisons. The eel hunting was the worst because those fuckers fly and go directly for the eyes and you need their scale-slime to make good Lifewine and it has to be fermented with chilipeppers and- I’m lucky to have all my fingers, is all I can say. Aunt Zippy makes good nets.

 

I’ve been researching it for years; I’m twelve now, and I started when I was… I learned to read and comprehend when I was two, and I read a legend about the ancient spirits of Skua, alcohols that had mystical powers. There are twenty spirits lost to ancient history; I’ve decided to recreate them. So far, I’ve gotten- Doomshine Fetching Fizz Falling Malt Stabsinthe Whale Ale Bastion Bourbon Werewhiskey Leechade Bull Brandy- nine. Damn. I’m nearly half done… I guess when I get them all, I can start figuring out my own boozes? That’ll be fun.

 

So.

 

Go over my kit. Got distracted by booze again.

 

Weapons; War Machete, Fang Repeater, Bullhead Shield.

 

War Machete, 'Inquiries'; a fast attack melee weapon, it’s throwing attack makes up for it’s short melee range. Loadout- keen edge for higher chance of lethal strikes right off, launch handle for better grip everytime I throw and retrieve the blade, alloy tip for higher chance of lethal strikes later in the fight if it goes longer, reinforced spine for better durability, and a Vearth-ore bolster for higher attack speed and higher damage during power throws. Secret techniques mastered- Grave Slash; a lightning fast strike that can cut through even the toughest armor. The origins of the technique are widely disputed, but it’s potency is not. Haven’t got the speed for Ghost Strike yet. One day.

 

Fang Repeater, 'Swift'; a silent rapid fire rifle with limited shots, cannot be fired while moving. Loadout- double clip for higher ammo capacity, flurry bolts for increased spread and a higher firing rate, grooved chamber for a much faster reload speed, reinforced piston for higher damage, and ricochet tracking critter magic so my shots home in on my prey and ricochet off things what ain’t. Secret techniques mastered- Snooze Darts; it’s a bolt coated in a heavy sedative, which causes the target to lose consciousness on impact. Considered unsporting by trappers, but seeing as I ain’t no trapper, I think it’s mighty sporting. Haven’t quite figured out how to use Bolt Burst but I surely have enough pecker bird spines to make it work. Still need to get my toe-spins tighter to actually make it battle-worthy.

 

(The machete and repeater together are the favored weapons of the trapper; I always feel a bit wilder with ‘em both at the ready.)

 

Bullhead shield, 'Brace'; unbreakable Adam wood and spring steel construction, modified by Mom to work with Fetching Fizz so’s I can use it as a hover-glider or a wall-crawler. What I can’t deflect with the machete, I surely can with the shield. It’ll block nearly any attack thrown at me from one direction. Melee enemies will be briefly stunned when blocked, while projectile attacks will be merely deflected. A well-timed defense will counter-block an attack, reflecting the damage back to the attacker. It’s a useful thing; haven’t managed to use Mirror Shield yet, but Shield Bash is definitely within my grasp. Just need to time it right.

 

Tonics; utility drinks I take every time I go a’venturing, not at all alcoholic or fermented in any way.

 

Healthy Tonic Water; fresh springwater gathered at the start of each week, bittered with quinine because where I go malaria is always a concern. It also tastes quite nice, even if the water tends to glow bright blue during certain solar events when exposed to direct sunlight. Sort of a bitter-lemon lime soda flavor, with just a hint of sweet-sour loveliness. Useful antimalarial properties, which is of concern when spending time deep in the Wilds.

 

The Black Blood of the Vearth, better known to the outside world as Black Tonic…

 

 

Okay, real talk?

There comes a point in every student’s life where they start wondering how much coffee they can drink before their kidneys just gives out. This typically happens when they’re up real late, still in school with either the panic of a final the next day or having nothing particularly better to do than try and achieve acute caffeine poisoning. If you say you haven’t considered this, you’re a filthy liar.

My first foray into this arena involved a winter quarter introductory organic chemistry final exam. I had been gifted with a friend’s surplus espresso machine that I’d barely used, not being much of a coffee aficionado at that time. All of us fresh-fish had been given a gift box full of useful items, one of which was a packet with two No-Doze in it. I had six dorm mates and none of them had used anything other than the condoms from their kits yet (I know everyone says you’re not supposed to be foolin’ around before you’re seventeen, but we mostly use condoms to keep munitions dry. Also, the power disparity inherent in cross-generational relationships is mitigated by the fact that the students mostly fool around with each other, not with, like, teachers. Anyway, I- being a chemistry major- have basically a degree in abstinence, so my condoms had gone decidedly unused, as I’d not picked up a Fang Repeater at the time).

Figuring that this was going to a long night of cramming before the test, I collected everyone’s No-Doze and broke out the espresso maker. At 8pm I prepared a bowl of macaroni, popped two No-Doze, and washed it all down with the first quadruple mocha of the evening. Around 1am, I figured I’d better repeat the 8pm dosage. At 4am, I had two more No-Doze. At 6am, worried that I wasn’t feeling any caffeine kicking in, I popped four more and had another pot of espresso. The fact that I was still awake and lively at 6am should have been a hint to me but I’d sailed far beyond the horizon of sanity by that time.

The final began at 8am.

I sat in the front row of Concertina Lecture Hall six, right leg rattling in my boot. I was politely asked to take a quick lap around the building as I was vibrating the entire row of firmly bolted chairs. I then sat down for my test and completed the three hour exam in a mere twenty five minutes, scoring a 93%. I then had lunch with my sisters Yuki and Jackie, told them about the Sempervirens Falling Serpent, whose favored method of predation involves flinging themselves across a being’s neck and jabbing their carotid artery with their incredibly neurotoxic death poison- forgetting that **_Felix_ ** is the sister who would be most interested in that deadly flying pit viper- before staggering back to my dorm, losing the majority of my clothing along the way. Upon my return, I promptly collapsed into bed, sleeping for 23 hours straight. I woke with a more fiendish hangover than I’d ever experience before or since.

The body does not appreciate overexposure to caffeine any more than it does to alcohol; I didn’t touch even a simple cup of coffee again for over a year.

So.

An acquaintance working and living in Wano went on holiday and discovered a bar with an [ exceptionally beautiful rig ](http://www.funraniumlabs.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/Chronovore-Coffee1.jpg) for the preparation of Scythian Triple Cold Extraction Coffee. Upon sampling this, he felt that, and I quote, “I could see colors that weren’t normally in the visible spectrum, and I vibrated through three walls before I passed out.” I looked at this and said to myself, “Self, you’ve got enough virgin laboratory glassware lying around the House that you could probably build something like that.” Probably several somethings, actually, but that’s beside the point.

The first important question was “How do I get a coffee filter into my separatory funnels?” This sticking point and the more important one of dealing with pressure cementing of coffee in the tip made preparation with the admittedly beautiful separatory funnels difficult. My foolish first effort apparatus experienced a near immediate redesign; cleaning glassware hasn’t been so painful since the ethylene glycol Incident Of Which I Shall Not Speak, Yea, Verily. After several failed attempts, true glory was met by the third iteration of the experiment where- anyway, the first successful process was actually quite lossy, and stood for a great deal of improvement. I quickly moved beyond my overly complicated process of the cold-brew rig; there were improvements to be made, beyond the scope of simple coffee…

 

The results of one pass, undiluted, of Batch 3 Original Black Tonic were remarkable:

 

Subject 1 (Not A Tomb Robber or Raider, Dammit) showed wakefulness but no other untoward effects. She declared the coffee to be “tasty”.

 

Subject 2 (Astrophysicist Extraterrestrial Prophetess) who consumed Batch 3, was similarly unphased.

 

Subject 3 (Aunt Zippy) had several sips of Batch 3 prior to breakfast with two cups of Baker’s Square coffee and followed it with the remainder of the Batch 3 mug upon return. She entered a state of hyperactivity requiring “walkies” outside, rapid speech, and much bouncing from one foot to another prior to complete burnout and crash for a period of an hour. Full recovery was made within three hours.

 

Subject 4 (Rider of the Est Mare, The Last Orange Liquor), had 1/4 of a cup of Batch 3 upon arrival at my house, though anecdotal evidence suggests she had consumed 3 cups of “Big Island Style” coffee in the morning beforehand. She exhibited hypervigilance, emitting high pitched yelps and squeaks at the slightest noise or startling movement. She too showed the same nervous energy of Subject 3 with a similar crash, though not as severe.

 

Subject 5 (My Mom) added her 100mL of Batch 3 to her half empty cup of coffee as a top off. No noticeable effects. She described the coffee as “good”.

 

Strangely, both Subjects 3 & 4 reported a sensation of time contraction where four hours of elapsed time seemed to be no more than one hour of subjective time, tops.

 

 

When Subject 1’s cup of unadulterated was half empty, she grabbed her canteen and poured the clear glass coffee cup full again. She looked at it and then put her hand up because She Needed An Adult Now, Or At The Very Least, Someone In The Know, Thank You. She said with concern, “I added water but it didn’t change color.” Me, Aunt Zippy (Subject 3), and Mom wandered over to peek into the dark caffeinated heart of her coffee mug. Even diluted to 50% of the original strength, it was still as black, oily, and potentially fatal as a bubbling tar pit.

 

This isn’t merely Scientific Coffee, or even Weapons Grade Coffee; this is Black Blood of the Vearth, or Original Black Tonic Water. It makes it easier to use secret weapons techniques, in that it increases the speed of recovery. Black Tonic is darker than a moonless night, hotter and bitterer than hell itself... Adventure in life is good; consistency in coffee is even better. This Coffee is not for messing around.

 

(The important thing to know about Skuans, coffee, and booze is this- Skuans react to what are classed as sedatives in the opposite way. So for people who are genetically from Skua, coffee is more like a sedative, and alcohol is more like a stimulative. Spirits and vigors from Skua are considered some of the weakest liquors in the world- but that’s because we don’t sell the good shit. And nobody makes coffee like a Skuan. Nobody.

Anyway.)

 

I have a Zulwood Knifebark [ Shank ](https://squattheplanet.com/attachments/bv1326-01-jpg.30154/) , a [ Canteen ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/86/0b/94/860b94cf52aad5c42499d652a1043911.jpg) , and vials filled with my current stock of useful distilled brews. I’ve got a cloud whip, holsters for my weapons and tools, a [ notebook ](http://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0903/2160/products/Foxy-fix-4.jpg?v=1465976603) and pencil, a [ bag ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/1e/3e/d0/1e3ed09dd6939f7df172d5d0c57bcf7e.jpg) to carry shit in and my [ a’venturing clothing ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/da/04/bf/da04bf6f0f37c33a325b6028e2322aad.jpg). Aunt Zippy says my hair's all red due to sun exposure, and Mom says red hair's been in our family for generations and I get it from two sides. I say it's not all that important- though I do wish I didn't have so much as it makes fitting it all under my hat a bit of a project.

 

 

 

Now, here’s the skin and bones of the tale; at a juk-joint in the backwoods outside Fiddler’s Green, there’s a woman by the name of [ Barbarella ](http://www.fashiongonerogue.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Barbarella-Costume-Silver-Bikini-Movie.jpg). Barb is a hoot, always has her ear to the wall for interesting tips, and for a tipple, a stack of dola, and a whirl across the dancefloor, she’ll give me tips and tricks for various events.

One of those events is the Cooper’s Hill Cheese-Rolling and Wake- the very event that would give me access to the gorse flowers I needed.

She gave me the scoop. I gave her a kiss, a shot of Doomshine, and a whirl around the floor to the jumping beat of synth-pop and delightfully[ ironic lyrics ](https://youtu.be/AjPau5QYtYs). Thus did Barb and I dance all night long. And then I considered how I would outrace a four ton Double Glouchester down a six mile sheer drop.

 

 

“So, this is how I broke my arm last night. D’yall know where the Cooper’s Hill Cheese-Rolling and Wake Downhill Race is held?” I say.

“I’m going to guess on Cooper’s Hill?” says a very wide eyed Ace.

 

He’s sitting next to the massive crate, holding ten liquors- the one’s I’ve managed to distill properly. His Pops, Whitebeard, is also staring at the crate of booze, but with a much more appraising eye. I’m still mildly covered over in gorse seeds, and I have dirt and twigs in my hair, and I’m sitting on the Double Glouchester I won at the race. It wasn’t a four tunnie, it was a forty-nine pounder, which is terrifying still but much more manageable.

 

“Only half right- it’s held on the ancient hill of Daire, where once King Cooley reigned. I needed to get access to the gorse flowers there so I could have all the ingredients for a special Skuan spirit what’s been lost these past thousand years.”

 

I say, then carefully pull another spike-bolt from my hand with my teeth. It’s as long as my finger; rolled over a nest of pecker birds during the cheese rolling and they took clear offence. Never ran so hard in my life.

 

“Well, anyway- the cheese rolling has been a sport in Skua since before we lived in the Sky, but it holds special significance in Daire, for obvious reasons. In a series of three consecutive races against progressively bigger and more dangerous cheeses, the racers are expected to outrun or outroll or outfall or outfly each example of fermented lactate, thus winning the cheese in question, a seven hundred gold piece cash prize, and a boon of the landholder, to be Redeemed As Thy See Fit, Young’n.” I say.

 

Under my still booted feet, beneath grass stains and mud, sits a large linen sack full of golden dubloons. With a sharp, painful twist that’s fit to scrunch my nose at, Mab re-aligns the twisty bones of my arm.

 

“Thank-ye, Mava.” I say.

“Drink your Healthy Tonic, Easy.” says Mab.

“Aye.” I say, and slug back the blue-glowing springwater.

 

Mmm. Quinine. There’s an audible pop as my bones re-fuse together, followed by my sigh of relief. I recork the bottle, doff my hat, and let my long red hair spring out and flop every which way. A very wide awake Marco is carefully trying to nudge- oh, oh dear-

 

“Y’gonna want to give yon Chalk Blue a bottle of whole milk. S’not quite old enough for eating yet, and needs a bit more milk to really have that mellow flavor they’re known for.” I sway, slowly. That was one hell of a race.

“You need some Black Tonic, Easy?” says Mab.

“Yeah.” I say. I drink the black sludge, shudder as chills run up and down my spine, and snap back in, focused and awake.

“So. This year's cheeses were a Comet Mimolette- what's percolatin' in yon cauldron, the Baby Chalk Blue that’s taken a liking to Marco, and this Double Glouchester.” I pick up a teapot full of cold water, and pour it over the Comet Mimolette in the cauldron so it doesn’t turn itself into fondue and then burn to crisps. It’s Uncle Ray-Ray’s favorite, and I’m going to give it to him if it would just cool down a bit.

 

“The actual race is- each cheese, over the course of a day, is released at a different time. The task of the race is to beat the cheese in a six mile freefall to a specific creek, gather a dram of creekwater, and return to the start with the intact cheese. The only rule is the water, cheese, and racer must present themselves to the race start in time for the next race to win each prize. I won all three races.”

 

Marco has swaddled the cheese in a kitchen towel and is nursing it with a weird, mildly horrified expression. I’m swaying again.

 

“Please keep the Comet Mimolette hydrated while I’m gone.” I say. And then I pass out.

 

Fuckin' Narcolepsy.

 

* * *

 

As I stare at my little sister Ezra, who’s covered in gorse-seeds, mud, gently stabbed with mildly toxic pecker bird spines, and drooling on the table, I realize something very important; every member of my family, including myself, is fucking nuts. I’m one of the future Pirate King’s; I know I’m nuts. As I pour cold water over the still mildly burning Comet Mimolet, I consider whether any of my sisters are actually… normal. Felix isn’t; Ezra isn’t… shit, they might all be fucking weirdos.

 

“Burp the cheese so it doesn’t develop unsightly bubbles, Marco.” I say.

“This is fuckin’ weird.” says Marco. He also starts gently patting the cheese on the rind under it’s little kitchen towel, so it’s not actually that weird. The cheese lets out little burping noises and the smell of gorgonzola fills the air.

 

“...So what’s with the booze…?” says Ace.

“We’ll find out in a moment.” I say.

 

Ezra has sat back up, a fearsome scowl on her face- though it looks like a murderous glare, that’s just what she looks like when she wakes up. It’s like my stone face, it’s really not what you need to watch to know her mood. Ace is actually the most facially expressive- whoops, she’s talking.

 

“So, where was I?” says Ezra.

“You said to keep the Comet Mimolette hydrated while you were gone.” I say.

“Oh. Oh! Right- okay, Marco, you can stop cuddling the cheese now it’s not so active anymore. Um- so anyway, I’d won the first and second races pretty easily, but the third race I needed a bit more…” Ezra pauses, rubs her fingers together to try and come up with some explanation. Shakes her head because, nope, nothing. And then she continues.

“So I hid my shield past the creek, went back up with the Baby Chalk Blue- sweet cheese, lovely flavor; I’m thinking of letting this one age up a few year's before going for the knife. Oh, right- so I go back up the hill, and I mix a Fetching Fizz which I will not mix for anyone here so don’t ask, and the race guy says “go”; I drink it down, and then I’m being yanked hell for leather to my shield. I scoop up a dram of creek water in my third vial, but I didn’t tuck my arm back in time and my arm bones went snap. So I say a curse word I will not repeat because Mab will tell Mom and then Mom’ll wash my mouth out with soap and I’m not about that life and I caught the cheese and I won and now I can make the damn wine I was wanting the gorse flowers for and that’s what the hell happened.” says Ezra.

 

I blink. Things begin to spark in the old memory; I remember…

 

“So these are all your other Ancient Skuan Spirits? The mystical spirits that were inspired by various Devil Fruits only without the permanence and with way more delicious flavor? The spirits what were lost some thousand years ago?” I say.

“M’yep. Except for the Snake Juice, that’s just a family favorite. Yall want a drink?” says Ezra.

 

I look at her booze crate. I look at my cheerful, weather-beaten and scientific sister. I grin.

 

“Gimme a Stabsinthe Bitter on the rocks, Easy.” I say, grinning.

“You betcha, Mava. Lemme set up the bulls-eye first...” says Ezra.

 

I spent the rest of that family band practice spitting sweet stabweed prickles knuckle deep into a bull’s eye as Ace fell in love with a bottle of Werewhiskey and twenty whole year's of sickness were knocked off of Ol’ Whitestache Pops after his first bottle of Bastion Bourbon. Marco nursed a vineapple and trouple ichor tartlet alongside a large black tonic, because Felix got bored and made a bunch of baked goods again. I got a marzipan full of marmite, as usual. Tastes like memories.

By the end of the day, I’ve repaired her really excellent hat.

Ezra has also had a wash off, and in Ace’s spare clothes, seems both more and less than she really is. Soft, sunbleached red hair, just like Morgan's with maybe a hint more brown; freckles, a crooked grin, and a split down one eyebrow. Scruffy, even clean and washed and in fresh clothing; she always looks like she just rolled around in a bush.

Still, that was a fun day.

 

* * *

 

“Easy, the snake in the jar keeps following me with it’s eyes.” I say.

“That means it’s lucky for you, Asher!” Ezra says.

“...Don’t you mean looking for me?” I say.

“I do not.” she says.

“Okay, Fair Enough. Uh- should Marco be drinking that straight from the bottle?” I say.

“-Th’ Black Tonic? Shit, Hang on- Gimme that!” she says.

“Nooo-” whined Marco.

“It ain’t fit for consumption direct from the bottle, you’ll do an injury to your kidneys!” she snarled.

“But-!” whined Marco.

“I’ll mix you up somethin’ nice, but you h’ain’t gettin’ no Black Tonic Neat, an’ that’s the end of it!” she snarled harder.

 

Pops started to laugh, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Marco was also sniggering after a while- my little sister is fierce! and fairly comical in her vehemence! obut he drank his… mixed coffee drink? It was mostly- bleh, cows milk- and some sugar, and a hot draught of Black Tonic. The scent of Coffee was nearly overwhelming.

Now how did it go again?

Ah, I remember.

 

I speak before I can stop myself.

“[ Science ](https://www.brainpickings.org/2017/04/26/the-mushroom-hunters-neil-gaiman/), as you know, my little sister, is the study

of the nature and behaviour of the universe.

It’s based on observation, on experiment, and measurement,

and the formulation of laws to describe the facts revealed.

 

In the old times, they say, the men came already fitted with brains

designed to follow flesh-beasts at a run,

to hurdle blindly into the unknown,

and then to find their way back home when lost

with a slain antelope to carry between them.

Or, on bad hunting days, nothing.

 

The women, who did not need to run down prey,

had brains that spotted landmarks and made paths between them

left at the thorn bush and across the scree

and look down in the bole of the half-fallen tree,

because sometimes there are mushrooms.

 

Before the flint club, or flint butcher’s tools,

The first tool of all was a sling for the baby

to keep our hands free

and something to put the berries and the mushrooms in,

the roots and the good leaves, the seeds and the crawlers.

Then a flint pestle to smash, to crush, to grind or break.

 

And sometimes men chased the beasts

into the deep woods,

and never came back.

 

Some mushrooms will kill you,

while some will show you gods

and some will feed the hunger in our bellies. Identify.

Others will kill us if we eat them raw,

and kill us again if we cook them once,

but if we boil them up in spring water, and pour the water away,

and then boil them once more, and pour the water away,

only then can we eat them safely. Observe.

 

Observe childbirth, measure the swell of bellies and the shape of breasts,

and through experience discover how to bring babies safely into the world.

Observe everything.

 

And the mushroom hunters walk the ways they walk

and watch the world, and see what they observe.

And some of them would thrive and lick their lips,

While others clutched their stomachs and expired.

So laws are made and handed down on what is safe. Formulate.

 

The tools we make to build our lives:

our clothes, our food, our path home…

all these things we base on observation,

on experiment, on measurement, on truth.

 

And science, you remember, is the study

of the nature and behaviour of the universe,

based on observation, experiment, and measurement,

and the formulation of laws to describe these facts.

 

The race continues. An early scientist

drew beasts upon the walls of caves

to show her children, now all fat on mushrooms

and on berries, what would be safe to hunt.

 

The men go running on after beasts.

 

The scientists walk more slowly, over to the brow of the hill

and down to the water’s edge and past the place where the red clay runs.

They are carrying their babies in the slings they made,

freeing their hands to pick the mushrooms.”

 

I said all of that aloud. And Ezra, my sister, smiled wide and toothy, like I’d said the best thing I could have said. Then she called our Granuna, and things get a bit hazy after that. I do remember drinking a whole bottle of Snake Juice and getting into a scrap with m'Granny though. She's scary, but kind.

And she hits worse than any hangover ever could.


	9. 02:00; Seaweed Snacks

_Hey Nami,_

_Hey, it’s okay. I don’t expect you to write like me, like you’re running out of time. I don’t expect you to be anything other than yourself. I enjoy it most when you’re honest with me, and yourself- I like hearing your honest feelings. Mab’s right- this really is just a written form of conversation._

_I’m always really glad to talk to you- it’s funny, I never thought I would be, but I am. I like hearing your point of view, your honest point of view. It’s very different from mine, and- anyway._

_I loved the date we went on at Sabaody. I loved sharing a meal with you, just the two of us, and I liked being with you in that little dance hall. Do you remember what it was called? I know I’d probably get us both lost if I tried taking us there, but I at least want to remember the name- I was just a bit too busy marveling at your beauty and your graceful footwork to notice trifling details like that, so don’t get snippy, okay?_

_I know I’m not the most verbal person, so- I just want you to know, the time we spent together, the time we spend together, is some of the best time I’ve had in my life, and I’d be honored to go anywhere with you._  

_Sincerely, Zoro_

 

 

_Hey Nami,_

_So, what’s it like where you are? I’m in a place called Kuraigana- don’t laugh, it’s just the modernization of the name! It’s a weird place, you’d probably like it- I kind of hate it though. It was never cold and misty where I’m from. Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever told you- I’m from a place called Shimotsuki. It’s funny; even though I’ve been to your home village, I don’t really know much about it. If you don’t mind, could you tell me?_

 

_-Ugh, I’m getting sick, I think; and all my paper is going rotten. Sorry for the brevity- I don’t want you to catch whatever I’ve got, and this paper is basically falling apart. ~~I miss you.~~ _

_Cold and sticky, Zoro_

 

 

_Dear Nami,_

_New paper- parchment does better, somehow. More expensive, though, so I’ve started making my own ink. Sorry if it smells weird. Oh- it smells weird when it's wet, try not to get this ink wet._

 

_-Ha. Ha. Ha._

_It’s started raining recently- and it doesn’t rain normal water here, it rains red, like blood. I- I’ve written Mab about it, and she took a look around. -I’d have written you, it’s just… you’re a Sea and Weather Witch, and she’s a General Witch. -Oh! I’m sorry; I don’t mean that in a cruel way, really. Witch is the feminine form of “Wise Person”; you’re wise and knowledgeable in matters of the Sea and the Weather. I didn’t want to ask you about it in case it’s **not** just a weird rainfall- because sometimes it isn’t. This time, actually, it wasn’t just a weird rainfall; it was a full on Curse._

_I’m not like Usopp, Nami; if I say it’s a Curse, what I mean is “A metaphysical echo of terrible malice, whereby future generations are harmed, using the remains of a grudge from beyond the grave.” You’ve been to Floria; you remember what happened._

_I care about you too much to get you involved with something like that without double checking that you can even do anything. Mab’s a Fairy Queen- part of her ancient Duty, which was passed down through millennia, is to see to the workings of the World, and ensure the safety of the people in it._

_I guess I’m trying to say- it was a chain of command thing, not a knock on you. You’re very Strong and powerful, Nami, I just- I didn’t want to take that kind of chance with your health._

_Anyway._

_According to her, the Land has a minor curse on it; nothing too terrible, it just makes everything a little depressing and unpleasant. I’m… not the best person to fix something like that, y’know? If there was something to cut, I could cut it down- but there’s not. That’s what we did, back in Shimotsuki- oh, um. Right, you asked- In my family, we decide what we’re gonna be when we’re nine. I decided I was going to be… Strong. It’s so long ago, I don’t really remember what I said I’d do exactly- but I knew I was going to be Strong. So, after I left the farm, I wandered our whole island, training against and defeating dojos. The dojo I couldn’t beat is the one I trained at, grew up at. It’s where Koshiro-sensei- my sensei, is. My reason for becoming the Greatest in the World, Kuina, is buried there- and- anyway. Every year, all the kids at the dojo would go out into the wide valleys to thresh the wheat fields. It was part of our participation in Village Life; I think that’s how Sensei worked out the taxes for the land our dojo’s on, if that makes sense. So- I know more about threshing wheat than anything else, when it comes to farming. Actually, no, I know how to shear sheep, too, and I… I think one of my sisters, or maybe my Auntie, taught me how to spin thread? But that was a long time ago. Anyway, I know a lot more than how to farm- I got turned around so often, I ended up staying with all kinds of people on my journey. To, ah, to make giving me room and board worthwhile, I ended up doing odd-jobs for anyone who’d let me._

_Now that I think about it, I’m not entirely sure how my sisters got me the supplies they did for that first leg of my journey..._

_Oh, uh- I have two older sisters, Rosa Maria and Marigold May. They’re sheep farmers- pastoralists? Rosie raises wool sheep, and Merimay raises milk sheep. I’m not too sure about the differences, but- I guess the milk sheep have better personalities? They’re a lot like ~~Merry's~~  Sunny’s goats, actually. The wool sheep are less stupid than usual, though; Rosie doesn’t believe in stupid animals, no matter what they’re for. Sheep are really fucking dumb, Nami- like, you can call me whatever you want, but I know I’m not as dumb as a sheep. A sheep will stand on a hill in a thunderstorm and ask God why the lightning struck it down. Just. So Dumb. _

_My sisters and me were raised by my Aunt “Tin Lizzy” Anais and Uncle Ryu. Tin Lizzy was a sheep thief back in the day, and uh... I probably shouldn't have written that down? She won her freedom in a sheep herding contest with a pig, which. I mean, I'd rather tell you that story in person, actually. But if you really want, I’ll tell you the story in a letter- doesn’t matter much to me either way. Uncle Ryu was… he taught me simple stick fighting, which I guess turned into sword fighting? They weren’t sticks… Tonfa! No, that’s not it either- S-something. They were sort of like short daggers, but meant for catching and breaking swords? -Sai. They’re called sai. I suppose my uncle wanted me to learn his style, but… I fell in love with swords. Haven’t thought of that in years- Kuina might have spurred me on, but I picked swords long before I met her…_

 

_-Sorry if my writing is a little incoherent- did you know that Kuraigana is where Dracule Mihawk lives? Well it is, and he’s been training me. It’s really hard to improve your skills without a teacher of some kind. If you don’t know how to combine your weapons, then see if you can find a teacher. I do know the comics you mean, actually- I always liked the Skuan Adventure comics, myself. Oh- dammit-_

 

_-Um… Sorry if there are bloodstains on this letter, Mihawk is a vicious teacher. Needed to put stitches in, thought the bandage would hold- nope. So uh. I’ll finish this letter in a bit, this hand isn’t as good at fine writing. ~~I want my letters to be beautiful to your eyes.~~ _

 

 _-Oh, hey, do you remember Perona from Floria? She’s here too, for some reason; I’m living ~~in~~  near a castle, and… It’s basically an orphanage-school now? I live in the servant’s quarters, or maybe a ruined village? I’m not really sure. It’s a little house; thatch roof, stone floor. I sleep in the loft; I think this was actually someone’s barn, it still smells very faintly of pigs in here…_ 

 _As for why everything’s abandoned: There was a war here, a few years ago- the original inhabitants of this island all died. No one left to say why the war was fought; and no one left to rebuild afterwards. Nami, this Land’s Curse… it should be much nastier than it is. Mab won’t tell me why it isn’t; just that there were Other Considerations, and that it’s Not My Concern. -All the fields were defiled, and there’s not much to be done about it- all the flesh rotted, but there's no way to know what else was festering in their bodies, sunken into their bones. So. That’s where the curse I mentioned comes from. It’s the right time of year, and Perona Clyde and her crew say that the only thing to be done is plow the fields, gather the bones, and plant clover, alfalfa, and such; fodder. The Land has to be turned back to a time_ ** _before_** _the war to be cleansed of its fury; creatures must live and thrive upon it, as… Syreenes say that “there’s no Land in this World what ain’t had blood spilled on or over it.” The easiest way to lift the Curse here- not the fastest, there’s no real fast way to lift a Curse except in stories- is to raise animals on it, instead of plants. So… I guess I’m writing my sisters for advice. ~~I really miss you.~~  Hope you’re having a better time of things._ 

_~~Love, Regards,~~ Love, Zoro _

 

 

_Dear Nami,_

_I hope I got enough blood-rain water in the vial for you. It’s funny- I ended up making getting to the rainstorm in time part of my sprint-training. It was good for endurance, even though I nearly got caught in a knife storm at least twice. Fuckin’ Grand Line bullshit. That was good dodge training, though; always pays to avoid getting stabbed. I accidentally ruined my shirt with blood-water, so- at least it’s not my blood this time. Mab was a little exasperated, but said I needed new shirts anyway, so I don’t think it was too big a deal._

_Mihawk did, but I think he owed Mab something? Or- no, he’s also… he’s in some kind of relationship with Perona. I think the reason all the kids are in Mihawk’s castle is because he’s trying to impress Perona somehow? And he’s really not… he doesn’t have any idea how to behave around children, it’s hard for him. I’ve been helping him, I think- He’s at the very least, not thinking about using bribery to get children to listen to him anymore._

 

 _-Child-minding is basically a series of negotiations where you try to keep ahead of the other party just enough to keep them from hurting themselves too badly; you can’t catch every little slip, that’s neurotic and harms the child in the long-run, but… like, most things. Mostly, you keep them from trying things you know for a fact will kill them; other stuff, eh. They’ll probably be okay. It’s… he’s not good at it. He’s gotten better, but… it’s not like a sword fight except for the very small part that is. More like a sword-spar using shinai, where you’re not trying to hurt your opponent. Still, practice makes perfect._  

 _Ah, the story about the pigs… It’s not in this letter proper, because it’s actually a sort of… it’s a series of stories? I wrote my Auntie for the story, and uh… yeah, this is definitely the kind of thing I have to tell in person. Um. I’m a changeling, as you might have heard Mab say- but what she doesn’t know, because how could she, is that I was egglurked. Egglurking is when a person who isn’t the parent of the Changeling- usually a Fae, but there are stories of other Folk- takes the Changeling Egg from it’s nest. The story you might have heard, about “normal” children being replaced with Changelings is actually a way of describing autism; changelings and autistics have some vague similarities, but… it’s not the same, Nami. The reason Auntie had to win her freedom wasn’t actually… she wasn’t winning_ **_her_ ** _freedom. She was winning_ **_mine._ **

_I can’t- I’m sorry, I can’t write the rest of this. If you want to know the rest, we’ll get together sometime and I’ll tell you- but I can’t write the rest of this down in a letter. I can barely journal about this. I- Sorry, need to meditate. I’ll come back and finish this letter later, I have to-_

 

_-I’d love a little box from you, but I don’t really have anything to put in it… Don’t let that stop you from making something for me. I swear, I’d love anything you made for me. I could make you a bracelet, maybe? Just a little woven band, maybe; dyed in colors native to the island I’m on, whatever those are. I was out walking in the forest- oh, my sisters wrote back, very happy to hear from me. I know you keep a correspondence with Nojiko… Anyway. I know I can get yellow browns from onions, but red is harder when we can’t pull any of the beets yet…_

_The tangerine-perfume was very nice, and it made the heavy air of this island just a little lighter. Thank you for sending it to me. I know you don’t like being wasteful- honestly, the smell made me think of you. You use tangerine shampoo, and… you smell nice, Nami. You smell of sea-breezes and sweet oranges, and I like it. I miss it. I miss you so much._

_Hurricanes are really dangerous- be on your guard, Nami. I don’t want you to lose your life training; be as careful as you can, okay? …How does one get “sort of” apprenticed?_

 

_-Study hard, Nami. I’m rooting for you._

_Ugh, the food! It wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t have to eat so much seaweed and natto! Do you have to eat terrible natto? It’s so squishy and bland, I just… uuurgh._

_(What are you doing for Ostara?)_

_Love, Zoro_

 

 

_Nami,_

_It’s just a shirt, y’know. Mab agreed; she’d rather I fucked up a shirt than fucked up myself. Still- I’m glad to help you, Nami. Whatever you need, I’m glad to do it. Try not to blow it out of proportion, okay?_

_So, they’re definitely lovers because Perona is_ **_definitely_ ** _pregnant. She’s about four months along, and she’s got this horrible ravenous hunger- worse than Luffy. I didn’t know it was possible, but there she is again, eating a mixing bowl of beans and rice and spinach with cheese curds and pickled herring. Perona is slowly becoming an irritable bird-lady and it’s funny watching Mihawk hover when he’s not thrashing me up and down the flagstones. He’s following her with a tray of snacks, it’s adorable. ~~Would you like to have children of your own one day? That’s too much to ask this soon.~~ _

_I’d prefer a necklace, maybe? Or something I can tuck into my belt, so… maybe a lanyard? I don’t have the kind of swords I can put charms on, so, that’s out. It sounds like a pretty stone; I’m looking to see if I can’t make you a necklace, since it’s so dangerous to wear anything on your wrists right now. There’s a big chunk of orange coral I found on the beach the other day, and I’m thinking of making you something lovely and dainty out of coral and pearls, maybe some gold? I need to work on my fine dexterity in my less-dominant hand before I try a new move with my swords; I mailed off for some jewelry supplies. I actually ended up working for a jeweler when I was trying to find Dracule Mihawk before I joined the crew. It’ll be fun to dust off those old skills._

_Knowing you’re thinking of me… it’s not my head that’s swelling. ;)_

_Of course I’ll tell you a story for Ostara- let me see… I don’t know many stories for grown ups, so I won’t tell you one._  

_This is a child’s story, and should be viewed as such._

 

 

 

> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> _There was a little girl whose father and mother had died, and she was so poor that she no longer had a room to live in, nor a bed to sleep in, and at last she had nothing else but the clothes she was wearing and a little piece of bread in her hand that some charitable soul had given her. She was kind and pious, however. As she was thus forsaken by all the world, she went forth into the country, trusting in God._
> 
>  
> 
> _A poor man met her, who said, "Ah, give me something to eat, I am so hungry."_
> 
>  
> 
> _She handed him her entire piece of bread, saying, "May God bless it for you," and went on her way._
> 
>  
> 
> _Then came a child who moaned and said, "My head is so cold. Give me something to cover it with." So she took off her cap and gave it to the child. When she had walked a little farther, she met another child who had no jacket and was freezing. She gave her jacket to that child, and a little farther on one begged for a dress, and she gave her dress away as well. At length she made her way into a forest and it was already dark. There came yet another child, and asked for a shift, and the pious girl thought to herself, "It is a dark night and no one can see you. You can very well give your shift away," and she took it off, and gave it away as well._
> 
>  
> 
> _And thus she stood there, with nothing left at all, when suddenly some stars fell down from heaven, and they were nothing else but hard shining gems and lumps of solid gold, and although she had just given her shift away, she was now wearing a new one which was of the very finest linen. Then she gathered together the star-treasures into it, and was rich all the days of her life._
> 
>  
> 
> _Though I know not the teller of the tale, the tale remains._
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

 _..._ [ _The kids are alright_ ](https://youtu.be/afam2nIae4o) _. They’re all a little confused- they’ve started crying less at night, at least. I think a terrible disaster must’ve happened; that’s the only reason so many children who aren’t related, like visibly aren’t related must’ve come together in one place like this. I’ve been teaching those that are willing to learn sword basics; some of the kids are really angry, and some don’t know how to work. There are enough that fall in love with the sword that they keep coming back, no matter how they feel about it. It’s- interesting. Your Bellemere was right; teaching others how to do what I know makes me consciously aware of what I know in a way that’s hard to describe except as ‘Mastery’. I’ve certainly mastered… most of the basics, at this point. I can always polish them up a little more, but my basics are absolutely solid._

 

_-Nevermind, I know why they’re here. If you haven’t read the article yet, I’ll send mine to you, I’ve actually copied it down in my journal. Some of the turns of phrase were just too good to let go._

_Spicy fruit snacks would be better than nothing; I… I actually miss sweet foods, all we have is peppered seaweed to snack on it. I miss Sanji’s food too._

_(...If you’re offering, I… I don’t see why not.)_

_Love, Zoro_

 

* * *

 

 _“FUCK! I missed Ostara- yes, Perona, I did have a date, actually. Fuck, she’s going to be- Ugh, yeah, in the basket there should be a bunch of letters…? Yeah, no, you’re not reading my letters Perona. I don’t care how bored you are, that’s my private correspondence-_ **_NO DO NOT READ THOSE, THOSE ARE EVEN MORE PRIVATE. I DON’T GO AROUND READING YOUR DIARY, DO NOT READ MY JOURNALS…_ ** _I keep three because they’re for different things._ **_NO THE STACK OF LETTERS IS EVEN MORE PRIVATE, THAT’S- STOP, NO NO NO NOOOOO- arrrgh!”_ **

_“...Oh dear. Oh no- I’m so sorry. I was just- ow- I was just teasing, I’m sorry. I- don’t strain yourself, please stop, I’m not going to read them, just- let me find a writing desk for you, hang on...”_

_“...hnnngggrrgh…”_

_“Perona, **sit down.** I’ll find him a writing desk; you can apologize to Roronoa as you like, just- **please** sit down.” _

_“I_ **_don't_ ** _need to-_ **_ow!_ ** _Okay, **maybe** sitting is a good idea. I'm sorry, Zorro. Oh- oh no, no, don’t cry sweetheart- Oh, _ **_ow._ ** _Ow,_ **_shit,_ ** _ow.”_

_“I keep forgetting h-her and, and I don’t want to forget her, I- I- I’m so sorry- it wasn't- it wasn't her book-”_

_“Hey, it’s okay- tell me, right now, what you want to say to her, and I’ll write it down for you, okay? -I’m **fine** Mi’hawk, go get a writing desk for Zorro!”_

 

* * *

 

_Lovely Nami,_

_Sorry for crapping out on our date. Losing an eye really fucked up my day-planner._

_Still Alive, but Injured, Zoro_

 

_P.S. It’s actually Perona writing this dictation, Zoro’s high on pain-relievers and a bit… loopy. He’s really upset he didn’t get to spend time with you and it’s the cutest thing-_

_P. P. S. This is Dracule Mihawk writing. Perona’s water broke shortly after she finished writing to you on Roronoa’s behalf, and your crewmate Mab just appeared with another nurse and I- I don’t know why I’m writing to you, but Roronoa is still quite insensible and I’m- I don’t know how to be a parent. I don’t know how to be a teacher. I- I’m sorry. I’m sorry for taking your beau’s eye. I- I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to. I swear, I didn’t mean to. Please, forgive me if you can. ~~I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean to forget about you, I’m so sorry.~~_

 

 

**_Love,_ **

**_Sorry for being higher than a kite on anesthetics when you came over._ **

**_If I said anything weird that offended you, I’m sorry._ **

**_If I did anything weird, I’m sorry._ **

**_I’m… I didn’t mean to do anything weird with your butt. Sorry. I’m a creep, I guess._ **

**_-Really? My personality?_ **

**_Confused, still a little high, Zoro_ **

 

**_P. S. I’m actually way ahead of you. ...I guess that means the worried and crying Hawkeyes from that fever dream wasn’t actually a fever dream… He’s getting better at holding a baby, at least. He and Perona made a cute kid, though why they picked the name Dracule Albatrisha Desdemona Clyde for such a happy little girl is beyond me. I’m calling her Dezzie._ **

**_P. P. S. I’m writing with my other hand because losing my eye fucked up my normal hand-eye coordination. Sorry if it looks weird._ **

 

 

_Dear, Nami_

_I love you._

_Yes, Really; Zoro_

 

 

 _My beloved, Nami,_  

_I’m a little nervous about writing this down where you’ll be able to see. But- um. Best just get it over with._

 

_Nami, I have a fetish for pregnant women._

 

 _I learned of this aspect of myself when I was in close proximity to Dracule Perona Clyde, (Yes, they got married; yes, it was a nice party; Mab took pictures I think? Ask her about it; I know Moda and Keimi were there, so… there should be pictures?) during her pregnancy. Something about knowing that Hawk-eyes had… had marked her, had changed her in such a way- and I really don’t like Perona like that. I’m attracted to a combination of personality traits and physical appearance and Perona is_ **_not it._ **

_But. Hormones and fetishes aren’t exactly matters of the heart. I just… I really like the idea of you being pregnant. Of… getting you pregnant. A-and it wasn’t just the, the shape of her body! I liked the- the way Hawk-eyes doted on her, and tended to her, and cared for her- and, um. I like the idea of having sex with a pregnant woman too, I just-_

_-Sorry, I had to… um. I had to masturbate for a bit. Thinking about your body changing- just the, the idea of a small creature that I had part in creating, safe inside you, growing and stretching your beautiful belly rounder and rounder, your soft sweet breasts becoming heavy and big and warm with milk, and how_ **_beautiful you would be,_ ** _and then I get to, to be around you when you’re like that and care for you and-_

 

_-Sorry. Had to rub one out again. I just really like the idea and I don’t want to get spunk on this letter, you deserve better than that. It might smell a little weird anyway, you know how I tend to be a bit… explosive- but I really… unless you specifically ask for a letter like that, I’ll do my best to keep the paper clean._

_I’m so happy and giddy and deeply honored that you want me- that you want me, and that you want me like that, and you want me to get you pregnant-_

 

 _-goddamn, that was a big one. Uh. H-had to get some water and some snacks, this is… actually kind of alarming, I’ve never really… this is a really big, deep fetish for me and I am_ **_very excited_ ** _but… talking to you about this is more important than just pleasure. So. Uh._

_I guess… I always thought I’d end up having children after I became the Greatest, but… that’s a bit… it seems shortsighted, now. I mean, I could devote myself entirely to the pursuit of my Dream Vow, but… I can have more than one Dream. It’s okay to want more than one thing in life; it’s okay to be more than one thing. I didn’t expect to ever fall in love, or fall in love with you- but I’m glad I did. I’m glad you love me, and I’m glad I love you; and if you want to be with me like that, if you want to have kids with me-_

 

 _-sorry, I seriously had no idea how strong this fetish is. Wow. I- If you feel like the best thing to do is to stop taking birth control, stop taking birth control. It’s not my body- it’s yours. I can’t make that choice for you- but, um. If you want me to stop using condoms, I guess… If you’re okay with that, I can do that. Um. We need to talk about monogamy, though- I have nothing against polyamorous relationships, but if we’re having bare sex, if we’re… if we’re fornicating, I don’t want_ **_anyone_ ** _else touching you. I don’t want any other man’s penis in your vagina, and I don’t want any other woman’s vagina around my penis. I don’t want to rub my penis against another man’s penis, either; nor do I want you rubbing your vagina against another woman’s vagina. I don’t know if that’s- a dealbreaker or what, but… that’s how I really feel. I- I know you might get horny or bored, but…  Um- if all that’s okay, I’d really like to fornicate with you and see what happens. I’d really like to get you pregnant._

 

 _-This is going to be the smelliest letter ever, I hope you realize. Training for me has been a combination of relearning how to fight with just the one eye, and upping my finesse. I’ve been taking the kids here through the basics, and there’s been enough progress that I’ve started upping their coursework. The style I’m teaching them is such that all the advanced moves are built on mastery of the basics, and I’ve been writing my Sensei, Koshiro, to make sure I teach them correctly. Koshiro-sensei wrote me that the test he made me take before he let me leave with Wado Ichimonji_ **_was_ ** _my mastery test; I’ve actually been a… I guess you’d call it a journeyman master of Santoryu since I left Shimotsuki. In my school, it’s actually_ **_teaching someone else_ ** _how to fight with a sword that makes one a master; I started that road with Taffy, and I’m walking it here. It’s hard, but rewarding, work; really makes me understand what each movement is for, what’s superfluous, and what isn’t- what’s really necessary._

 _I think… being a parent must be like that. And, if you want to do that work with me- I’d love that, Nami. I really would._  

_Love, Zoro_

 

 

 _My Beloved, Nami,_  

_I talked to Mab and Sanji- it’s not actually possible to die from orgasming or ejaculating too many times. It’s much more likely that you’ll pass out from exhaustion or dehydration. Nami, please don’t write me a letter like that again- your last one nearly killed me, and I’d really hate to die without getting us both what we want._

_Um. But- I need to be honest, you asked me to and… the best things in life are often the hardest to do. Clear, open, honest-_

 

_I want-_

 

_I want I want I want-_

 

 _I really, really liked parts of your letter- the part your pants devil told you to write, I mean. And I didn’t like other parts. Um. I’ll do my best to explain which was which, but- if you need me to explain more, I’d be… I can do that._  

_I like that you like the idea of me filling your flat belly until it’s round and hard and gently squirming with our babies. I like that a lot; I’m hard and throbbing just thinking about it. I want that so badly, Nami- I want to fill you up until you’re almost choking with it, and I want to watch it spill and ooze out of you, my white spunk spilling onto our sheets. I want to fill you again and again, until there’s a thick slimy puddle beneath your hips and your sweet fuzzy peach to swell with blood, to almost be bruised from how hard I’ve bred you. I want to breed you, and fill your womb with my seeds; I want your fertile, sacred, secret place to be bulging and obscene with my sin. I want to get you pregnant and then marry you._

_I don’t like the idea of your breasts overflowing your bras and swim-tops because that sounds really painful and not fun; I’d much rather give you a massage in the bath and watch your breasts spill out of my cupped hands. I want you to have bras that fit you and support you; I don’t like the thought of restrictive lingerie that doesn’t support you and isn’t comfortable._

_I like the idea of your body changing so visibly- beyond the obvious- in response to our fornication. I like that your nipples will get darker and more sensitive and just touching them- just_ **_breathing on them_ ** _could bring you pleasure. I like the thought of that orange fuzzy stripe across your hard round squirmy belly; I’ll run my hand over it and feel every wriggle and wiggle and stretch of our babies inside of you, every hot little limb pressing against your warm, dark, safe womb, every push and press transferred to the golden pale skin of your belly. Oh god, and every time I see that orangey stripe on your belly; or even if it’s not hair, it’s your skin that darkens, Nami- every time I see it I’ll remember you pregnant and I’ll want to fill your hot dark womb with my spunk again and again; I’ll want you to be pregnant every two or three years, I’ll want_ **_so many children with you, Nami_ ** _._

_I’ll be happy with however many children you want to give me but I want… I want as many children as you can possibly give me, as many as we can safely have. I want to feel every little fluttering kick, every squirm and shift, every little moment you can stand sharing with me; Nami, I want them all._

_I want to draw the very first drops of milk from your big, heavy breasts, ready and waiting to nurse babies that have not yet come; I want to kiss them and nuzzle them, massage good warm sweet milk to each of your tits and suckle thick streams of good, sweet milk from them. I want to suckle your clit, too, while you’re so round with my babies you can’t even reach down and push me away when it gets to be too good; I want to make you come so hard… I want to make you come so hard that when your due date arrives, it’s my tongue and my suckling of your clit that makes your water burst._

_As our babies come into this world I want- I want to rub your clit, and your furry lips, and the soft wet hole they’ll come out of; I want to make you orgasm all through the labor, for every child we have._

_I want I want I want-_

 

 _I want to hold you down and_ **_fuck you_ ** _, Nami; I want to fuck my babies into your pussy and your womb, I want to- I want to spray my hot spunk all inside of you and watch it ooze out, and every time you think I’m done, that you’re pregnant- I want to fill you again with my dick and fuck you again, but_ **_harder_ ** _. I want to fuck you for days, Nami; day after day after day, in all kinds of positions and weathers and lights and seasons, until there’s no possible way you aren’t pregnant, until your pussy throbs at the mere thought of my dick, until the smell of bleach makes you come so hard your legs give out on you._

 _I want to tie you down like we did the bitch-dogs when it came time for puppy-season; I want to make you scream and scream with pleasure and fill your womb with my seeds,_ **_I want to breed you_ ** _\- I want to make you_ **_mine_ ** _. I want to tie you down and fuck my babies into you, again and again; I want to watch your belly swell and your tits hang heavy and fat with milk and I want to see your beautiful face when I make you come our babies out._

_I want to make your pretty orange pussy suckle every last drop of spunk out of me._

_I want to watch your pretty orange pussy swallow every last drop of spunk I can squeeze out of my dick._

_I want to watch my white spunk ooze out of your pretty orange pussy, and I want to fuck so much spunk into you that you’re oozing for two weeks afterwards._

_I want to fill your womb with my seed and watch it grow._

_I want you to grow round and fat with my babies._

_I want to watch your pretty orange pussy squeeze our babies out._

_I want to make babies with you, and hold them, and hold you, and love you, and love them._

_I want to fuck babies into you._

_Nami, I want to marry you and have lots and lots of babies together._

_Nami, I want to fuck babies into you and marry you. I want everyone who ever sees you in your wedding gown to know that you were obscenely pregnant at the time; I want your due date to be the week after we get married, I want everyone to know exactly- I want you._

_**I want you I want you I want you.** _

_Nami, I want to fuck a baby into you, and marry you, and have lots of babies together._

_I love you._

_Nami, I love you._  

_Nami, will you marry me? I- I don’t need to fuck a baby into you first, we can just get married. If you want._

_God, I want you and I love you and- just. Answer me, please?_

_Love, Zoro_

 

 

_Lovely Nami,_

_I’m gonna fuck our baby into you and then marry you when you’re ready to pop, and then I’ll make you come so hard that your water breaks and you come our baby out. -I talked to Mab. She says we’re both weirdos, but so long as we’re happy it makes no difference to her. If we want to do like we talked about- baby, marriage, orgasm-water breaking, orgasming the babies out- she says all of that’s totally possible._

_So._

_I’m going to fuck our baby into you, Nami. As the baby grows, I’m going to adorn you with gold and pearls and sparkling gemstones, drape the whole of your body with lacey jewellry made with my own two hands. I will massage good-smelling oils into your skin, and comb your hair, and paint your nails, and rub your feet. I will fetch and carry for you, and provide for you, and give you everything I can. I will feed you anything you want to eat, and I will fuck you any way you desire- so long as it’s safe for you and our baby- and I will make you orgasm every time you wish it._

_I will make you orgasm so hard that, upon the advent of our baby’s birth, your mighty, magnificent orgasm will break your womb’s waters, and the baby shall be brought into this world to the sounds of your voice exulting the pleasures of the flesh._

_And then I’ll hand our baby up to you, and hold both of you, and love you both forever._

_Love, Zoro_

 

 

_Nami,_

**_I promise._**  

_Zoro_

 

 

_My beloved, Nami,_

_Sorry my letters haven’t been as long lately; the typewriter you sent me threw a gear, and it took a while for it to be fixed. I’m still working on my calligraphy; I know you don’t care so much about the form of the letter, I know the important thing is the content of the letter, but- I can’t just send you an ugly letter, Nami._

_That’s not who I am._

_You deserve beauty, Nami; to be adorned in it, to view it, to revel in it… but for now, the best I can give you is a few adornments and some turns of phrase._

 

_And our Promise._

 

_Your letters were, are, and remain a balm on my senses; the chimes you sent me sing with every word, even when the wind is so rare. You cool the sweat of my mind, you warm the coldness of my heart. I can look on the words you’ve sent me, smell the faded color of summer sunshine and think “Ah, I am a lucky man, to have a daughter of the Est Mare as my beloved.”_

_Ah, beloved, daughter of the Est Mare, prettiest Tangerine Weather Witch to ever sail the Sea... aside from my journals…_

_Aside from our Promise..._

_These letters from you, that box you made for me- which I’ve started keeping pretty things I make for you in- a windchime, a lanyard with a love-token on it; a fever-touched memory; the memory of our lovemaking; these things are all I really own._

_I love you; Zoro_


	10. 16:00; Liches, Dancing, and What It's Worth

[ So like. ](https://youtu.be/Zjh80iwj8rg) I don’t really know what Easy or Fee or Sisko or any of them get up to, but I do know they need money- like, spending money, we’ve got plenty to live on but… either we get creative with hiding what we purchase or we get shameless, y’know? I also know, for me at least, the easiest way to make money- once we realized that none of the schools were really working out for me, and rather than do what Morgan did with Mab when it became clear that she wouldn’t be the kind of person Morgan wanted as a Princess of House Morgan, Mom said to me, she said like, “Yuki, take this shovel. It’s name is Rhythmortis; go to the Vearth Reclaimer’s Office downtown. There’s a man there by the name of Credence Clearwater. Tell him that Sooty Ravelle sent you, and he’ll keep you to rights.” she said.

 

I said “But Ma, what about school?”

And Mom said “You leave those fucking jackasses to me, my girl.”

 

And I did.

So that’s how I became a Charnel Worker. 

I went into L’ecole Necrosis as a Dance Major, which is actually rather rare for females, somehow. I dunno. I guess girls usually go to the Conservatory if they want to Dance, but- I’m in L’ecole Necrosis. I have classes every other day, or I did for the first year, and I’ve started doing full work days with my work gang. They- we aren’t friends yet, but all of us have enough Honor for that to not really matter, not right now.

 

I’d… Druther not think about why Mom had to take her ‘Shitwrecker’ to school. Mom is cool, and I’m glad I don’t have to go back. I wish I’d told her sooner. I wish things were different.

 

 

Charnel Workers… How do I even begin to describe us? We aren’t morticians, we don’t… do that, in Skua. It depends on what kind of charnel you’re talking about- Royals get buried in the Old Catacombs, far to the East, whence sun rises from blacken’d hills, but most people do like this- they fill out a preferred charnellement scrip, send it in with the quarterly census, and then they get taken to the nearest charnel area of their district after death. There’s a charnel field, or house, or cave, or something in every county-kingship of Skua, and people go there for all kinds of things- they’re the only place you can get sanctified repairs done on charnellements, which, like, people wear them every day, so you need repairs done on ‘em every now and again. I don’t need repairs done on my earrings yet, but I did get the hoops switched out for the heavy-duty wear style, the ones that, that like, they’ll tear through the flesh of my ears before they pop open.

 

I’m on a work-gang with the Bellevilles- Marin, Jet, and Tank; and with Quercus “Brewery” Garryana, registered Nokken. They’re actually pretty neat, for a trio of meathead brothers and a swamp ‘possum, but- the Bellevilles at least used to give me shit about being a girl with a fancy star name. Or maybe for being twelve. So, like. Nah, they’re alright now- so I guess the way we became friends is like this?

 

So like. There’s a lot of duties Charnel Workers see to; we sell incense, incense burners, commemorative plates and specialty candles. We repair charnellements for a moderate fee, and we re-make them for a much higher one. We perform various rites with the turning of the year; and like, last year I was even the sacrificial virgin for the Rite of Spring. I got to wear a fancy costume, do a lovely dance across blacken’ stones, and leap into a ‘deadly’ fire. Good fun. It’s coming up on Beltane again; don’t think I’ll be called on as sacrifice again. Which is alright.

Mostly, though, we Charnel Workers empty out the ancient tombs of the old Syreenes. So like. When Floria seceded from Skua, they couldn’t take all their charnellements with them. It became the duty of the remaining Charnel Workers to clear out their tombs, and ensure their dead kin were returned to them. Before then, it had been the duty of the Charnel Workers to empty out tombs who’s families have all died, or seven generations back- space being at a premium, and so on. We all return to Vearth and Mist, Wind and Light; it’s a strangeness of humans faced with death that delay it for seven lifetimes. When everyone who remembered you as you is gone, then you have fully died, and your bones- so beautiful and beloved- can be returned to the good Vearth, the gold and gems that once adorned them made clean by the sea. There is a beach, where gold is washed and combed by us students at L’ecole Necrosis. We also till the fields and improve drainage and just- there’s a lot of things I do as a student that I didn’t realize needed to be done. So like- it’s fun?

 

My job is not as easy as it might sound, because literally nothing in Skua is as easy as it sounds. So like, Syreenes don’t appreciate theft, and they don’t take kindly to thieves. It’s a little less… death-trappy, I’d imagine- on Floria proper, I mean, because until this year they didn’t have enough space for all of the mechanisms and Automatons. They had no such restrictions in the cloud-islands of Skua.

So… basically my job is to go into these ancient tombs, figure out all the death-traps, and disarm them. Without dying. And then go back through- because the tomb’s reset themselves when you close the entrance door, but you have to learn them to get all the Florian charnellements. And our contract with Floria- to prevent open war- mandates the eventual return every charnellement. So like, there’s a reason Ezra and I are like, work buddies- Easy’s brews are really helpful, even if she hasn’t found some of the best ones yet. A glass of Fetching Fizz before a training day’s work in one of the pre-cleared tombs will net big bonuses, just because the first few passes are all about the big noble pieces and not dying to dangers you haven’t quite internalized; tiny little beads, jeweled pins, rings, brooches- they don’t really get noticed the first few go’rounds but our contract is for all the Floria Charnellements to be returned, so all of them will be returned. We take contracts very seriously, Up Here.

Or at least I do, what with being a Portgas one way and a Morgan t’other (it gets written down as Morgan but the nickname of the House is Dreamspinner and that’s what most people know the House as, what I  _ think _ of it as; dunno how often it’ll crop up, now that Mother Morgan’s Sailed On). And- I guess I was holding my teammates back? But. I’m twelve, and I started when I was ten. What the hell were they expecting of me? Like, seriously. Rude.

I mean- I know the difference between clothing for  [ home ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/18/5a/f4/185af49c9aa9da19fccac8549b4126f7.jpg) and  [ work ](https://68.media.tumblr.com/8f1f1a39b42b3a9ba6c7e6f15e002a65/tumblr_noaozhtdyC1sfhxojo1_500.png) ; I wear two loose braids on either side for home, and I wear my strawberry-blonde locks up in a  [ braided bun ](http://pophaircuts.com/images/2014/05/Braided-Bun-for-Curly-Hair.jpg) for work and I just…

 

I just wish I knew what was wrong with me that people keep not wanting to be friends with me. I don’t think I talk too much, like Felix does; and I’m not geeky, like Ezra. I’m more personable than Sisko, not as intense as Mab; I don’t wander off like Jackie does, and I’m not in your face, like Tilly. I’m not Misty-eyed like Atty, and I’m not solid, like Gabbie. I’m not clever, like Spadey; I’m not strong, like Asher- I’m just… me.

Just Yuki. Honest, accepting, Yuki.

I guess the only time anyone wants a Lily-flower around is at a funeral- so… maybe I’m supposed to be a gravedigger after all.

It’d be nice to have friends, though.

 

 

 

So like. Our team gets a lot of shit work from higher up- nothing too bad, just, a lot of scutwork, which- fair, I’m twelve and shit, I’m not big enough for most of the other things. Cute children sell more ritual gear, I get it. But the Bellevilles were chafing at our restrictions. 

So- like, we were in line for our first tomb of our own, no secondary work-gang to help, just us four, our work tools, and whatever skills we had to get the job done. I don’t know why they- the Bellevilles- didn’t take me with them- I mean, if they had, it’d’ve gone really wrong for them probably, but- they told me the wrong time to meet up that day, and then… I had overslept, so I didn’t have time to get more potions from Easy’s stash for myself and my teammates. I nearly missed the train and-

Like, they went into the Tomb Hills without me, to our work tomb? And- like, okay. I guess that’s okay, but- little known fact of life as a Charnel Worker: Your first real Unsealed Tomb is a serious spike in difficulty. I didn’t learn that at L’ecole; I learned that from Mom. I got taught how to deal with Lich Automatons; I got training in how to know if a floor is full of deadly poison spikes; even the weird esoteric knowledge to get through the winding warrens mostly without getting terminally lost, but like… I didn’t learn everything in Necro School. Even Necro Dancing doesn’t teach you everything you need to know. Even Mom couldn’t teach me everything I needed to know.

 

Everything a person needs to know can’t be learned in school, or in training, or from your mom or your- dad, if you have a dad- or even from books. Some things you have to learn from experience.

For example, I didn’t know how much I genuinely care about my work gang, even the jerky parts, until after they almost died for realsies.

Until after I saved them.

 

So like. First of all, here’s what I take with me when I go Necro Dancing; my weapon, Rythmortis, a shovel that’s also an  [ axe ](http://bushmanshut.com/658-thickbox_default/m48-tactical-shovel-entrenchment-tool-with-axe-blade-sheath.jpg) ; a standard a’venturing kit- a backpack, bedroll, flint and steel, phials full of my sister’s brews and tonics which I wear on me, Sun Dials- full of guaranteed sunlight, fresh as of last week- 500 feet of rope, and a waterskin. I have a large amount of the healing tonics my sister makes, mostly Doomshine and Fetching Fizz, and it’s usually Bastion Bourbon for the third. Add the normal Healthy Tonic Water and the Original Black Tonic (Ver. 7), and that’s my full loadout as far as potions go. There’s other things too, more specialized materials- but the Bellevilles had stuck me with all the gathering supplies, I guess because they thought I was best for the job? I mean. I’m okay at carrying large amounts of shit, but… I feel like we’re not doing as good as we could.

 

So like. Traditional Florian construction of tombs goes like- it’s in three distinct levels, with each level growing significantly more dangerous. Or at least, that’s what it’s like for us trainees- there are bigger tombs, with more complicated levels, and the danger of them only grows. However, there are new tomb complexes being discovered every day- deep shafts full of quick reflexive death; dark lakes full of unknown dangers. Dirty, dangerous work; I’m suited for it, a bit- I’m getting better at figuring out what the dangers are gonna be just from looking at the door. Florians are real big on ‘Sporting Chances’ which ain’t nothin’ of the kind- they like their enemies to see their deaths a’coming. Which. Vicious.

The tomb that cemented myself and the Bellevilles as friends was one of those tombs that was bigger than expected. The tomb was officially noted as “Florian Child’s Tomb #140”; one of the tombs for the old workhouse-orphanages. We eventually called it the Storm Vent.

Because of the fucking batshit windtunnels, and the lighting, and the acid masquerading as rain, of course. And the burning floors did not help matters!

 

 

It’s a curious thing, seeing a corpse. Even adorned as the Florians do, in gold-brushed bronzed feathers and delicate crystal stones, the thought always comes every time you see the crumpled remains of something so small- where’s the rest of it? Where’s the person? 

They’re gone, of course, but- there’s a reason we get circulated, there’s a reason Charnel Workers have to do work in the sales quarter.

There’s a reason my gang got very light work after their old member, Marth (Marte? They don’t talk about her, or at least- not to me) died in action.

Anyway.

 

So like- here’s a map of the  [ Tomb Hills ](https://c4.eb-cdn.com.au/website/videos/images/screenshots/203092_screenshot_03_l.jpg) . To the Soutwes, right by the Ancient Forest, there’s a big hole in the cloud-cliff, through which the Office of the Charnel Workers is. The Office is guarded by two Giganta Automatons, and is where every Charnel Worker on rotation checks in before going delving. The doorway is lintel and post construction, and carved into it is various heraldic figures in bas-relief; time has worn away all but the most recent into crazed figures. There are colloquial names for each pictorial representation of various unnamed areas in the Tomb Hills, and as trainees we’re drilled on them all the time: Ancient Forest, Death Mountain, the Flatlands, Poison Bog, the Ruins, Charnel Village (the village of charnel workers; Ezra’s Barn is up there), Nokken’s Domain… just. 

It’s extensive and surprisingly habited, I know the Clover Veterinary has their big animal hospital near the Ruins. Felix is thinking about doing volunteer work up there, and I figure one of these days I might take her out? It’s… it’s a lot more dangerous than she realizes, what with Lich Automata wandering the Plains and all. Still, she can handle herself in a fight- I just. I’m her older sister, I’m allowed to worry.

So anyway. I take the train up from the city every time I go into work, leave before moonset; goes up along the coast and the station lets out near the Slime-beast Hollow. Lumpy Pumpkin; Last Stop.

I go all the way up to the Tomb Hills, go into the Office and clock in; scrawl my name with the rest of my crew in our usual spot on the slate wall, white chalk stark against black stone. I check around in the lounges and the mess; no Bellevilles. Check with the Quartermaster; check out my Charnel Worker’s vestments- a blue headscarf and a pair of skull-adorned ear-covers. They don’t do anything other than guard my ears from possible explosive use; everything else is my own clothes. Three-quarter sleeve loose dark color work shirt, elemental resistance heavy work-tunic in bright red, long dark pants, a’venturing boots, and the shovel, ‘Rhythmortis’.

My belt has only th’one pouch, with a Charnel Worker standard charnellement-holding partition on one ass-cheek- bigger on the inside and moon-weighted to boot- and bottles full’a Easy’s potions on the other. Along with various supplies from my a’venturing kit, I’m pretty much prepared for any kind’a’venture.

 

My day goes like this- if it’s a rest day, and we’re not on Raid, I’m at home in Tiffanyan. I’ll reorganize my  [ books ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/e1/a4/09/e1a409aac7e249a22eb5a5b6d5ae9a05.jpg) ,  [ dust things ](http://pbs.twimg.com/media/C6vUsgSWwAAsJ6z.jpg:medium) \- clear off my reference board, make sure my books and things are all in order, and so on.

I’ll train on the balcony, spend time relaxing on the roof where it’s sunny, eat with my family; read just for the fun of it.

 

If I’m working, my day goes like this- wake up before moonset, get dressed, eat, grab the a’venture pack I stocked the night before, grab the premixed Fetching Fizz I asked Easy to make for me and stock in my fridge, grab my loadout of other potions, grab Rhythmortis, and take the train Up into the Country. My stop is the end of the line; there’s been talk of taking the trainline all the way up to Nokken’s Domain for years now, but I’m pretty sure that’s not actually going to happen. Last stop’s the Lumpy Pumpkin; from there, it’s a quick half-hour jog to the Office of the Grave, where I work.

 

I’m not a Tomb Raider or a Graverobber, those are  _ very different _ from what I do. I’m a  **_Necrodancer_ ** , and I’ll thank you to remember that.

 

Anyway; I usually meet up with my gang in the office- we get our assignment, if they’re giving any to us, and then we grab whatever we’ll need from the Quartermaster. If it’s a big job, we’ll go to the Lumpy Pumpkin first, have a meal- breakfast for them, second breakfast for me- and work out how we’re doing things- or at least, that’s what most of the gangs do. All the gangs except ours, actually.

Hm.

 

So like… my gang has four guys in it, aside from me. 

Garryana-  [ Garry ](http://img09.deviantart.net/b405/i/2014/356/c/7/nokken_by_valadomi-d8avoag.png) \- is a long, thin blond with a weird see-through magic on his limbs and chest. One of the Nokken Princes- the third one, maybe? He’s not in line for the throne, I know that- took himself out of succession after his father-king remarried so’s he wouldn’t be tempted to harm his new younger siblings. S’the Nix’ blood, y’know- they’re too many Wild Cards in that line, too many Sinners and Saints, and I mean that literally. (A Sinner is someone who Breaks the Law so much they’re killed for it; a Saint is someone who helps codify or recodify the Law for the Age they live in, usher in, or create. Not all Sinners are actually  **bad;** and not all Saints are actually  **good** . As with many things in life, it all comes down to context.)

Garry has sun-gilded skin and thick yellow hair, like irises; algae-green eyes and a mouth that settles most often into a smug smirky expression. Bless him, he’s hardly got a mean bone in his body that I’ve noticed- then again, I’ve got long exposure to Fee, and she’s… well, you either get a thick skin, like me and Mab, or you do your level best to not be around her, like Sisko and Jackie.

Garry weaves live plants, mostly water clover, through his hair and just lets it all grow- he’s a nokken, or maybe a fossegrim, and there’s that nix-blood too, so... There’s a lot about him that’s just naturally weird.

Anyway- he’s a huggy, cuddly kinda guy, and when I started training with the Charnel Workers, he was the one who welcomed me to the ‘Four Swords’ work gang. He’s not all that nice to hug, but- it’s that thing where a person becomes more comforting the better you know and like them. Basically, he’s a walking pile of jagged bones and rock-hard muscle; there’s a thick layer of fat, but… he’s not nice to hug. Unless you know him like I do, in which case he is.

Technically speaking, he lives in a creek delta just outside the city, in the Uptown Swampy Culvert district; we usually ride into work together. He plays a  [ hardingfele ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hardanger_fiddle) ; has a sweetheart of a  [ boyfriend ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/ce/07/38/ce07381cdbb246e8bb68aa40c770fe7b.jpg) I've met a few times by the name of Jun. (Jun’s a damn fine swordsman, and we’ve sparred a few times; he’s always game to go a few rounds with me, which is both fun and helpful. He’s also willing to help me trim and comb out my hair after a Raid, which is invaluably helpful.)

Garry (and his beefsteak, Jun) is my current favorite; he always takes the time on the ride back to town to rub the blood from under my toenails back into the rest of my foot, reset the bones that Marin snapped by stomping on my feet accidentally and holding me while I cry. He’s gotten real good at consoling me, even though he’s not all that suited for it- and I’ve gotten used to the dampness of his hair, and falling into a troubled sleep against his side.

 

The Belleville Brothers are kind of- Marin doesn’t like me. He’s the oldest, and his brothers follow his lead. When Marin isn’t around, his brothers are almost likeable. They’d be all the way likeable if they actually talked to me. They kind of- they do when it’s work related. Otherwise… nope. So like… jerkish? Jerks.

 

So like.  [ Marin ](http://orig10.deviantart.net/3733/f/2009/210/a/4/demon_hunter_by_jasonengle.jpg) . Blue tunic, hard shoes- or bare feet sometimes, he can’t quite decide- good at taking things apart with his bare hands and feet. Carries a staff for Reasons. Kind of a dick. Long blue fighting cloak adorned with jade charms and a paisley print and a loose blue tunic and trews and I don’t know if he wears the charnel workers tunic but he must because that’s the uniform and a straw helm with more jade charms, pointed haven’t shaved the jawline face hair that’s basically scruff length and… he’s got more muscle than real sense I guess. Good older brother; always willing to comfort his younger brothers. Never me though. I- I’m trying not to be vindictive, like Before, so it doesn’t really matter how many times he’s stomped on my foot by “accident” and broken my toes or tangled our feet together just so and popped one of the bones of my ankle out of alignment and- Garry has very strong fingers and he’s good at caring for feet now. He had to improve.

I'm not quite good enough to dodge Marin and Necrodance at the same time, but- I haven't let it slow me down, nope nope nope! Work with a smile on your face and a song in your heart, as Aunt Zippy would say, and she'd know.

It irritates him that he can do all of this to me and I just- smile. It makes him feel guilty, and he turns that guilt into anger because he knows he’s doing wrong by me, just as I Know that he’s grieving and using me as a scapegoat- it hasn’t affected my Work, _ I won’t  _ **_let him;_ ** but it does hurt.

 

[ Jet ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/fb/87/80/fb87808c12f4fa998a4a0484be9ec178.jpg) has a bone dry sense of humor, wears a lightweight dark-purple tunic under sleek slinky-sneaky shark-leather armor and too many belts and two daggers and boots and the standard loose Charnel Worker’s jumpsuit under everything. He’s got a thin face, and heavy, shaded eyes, sharp eyebrows. Flat mouth, longer hair than most, slippery black and cut a bit ragged, and a scar on the right side of his mouth or is it chin? It’s a big one, like a wild animal got him. (The jumpsuit is so comfy, and they’re all black- we all wear them, just- some of us wear them more than others. Garry wears his as basically a pair of short-pants, like culottes. I actually wear mine nearly all the time- I’ve got two or three of them, and some fancy dresses. There’s one that I retired from service and I wear it as pajamas and also as house-clothing. Mab can keep her fashion; I like clothing that works every day and I don’t have to think about it. And it washes clean so  _ easily _ , fucking- anyway.) He’s good with poisons, but he’s best with knives and he put a knife through my foot or he’s tried I think but I’m very light on my feet, I’ve got the twinkle toes and- I don’t think he really wants to hurt me it’s just he feels he can because Marin does. Jet’s kinda… silly.

I test potions for my sister, poison is the first thing she permanently protected me against. Like. He doesn’t use a poison strong enough for it to bother me much more than a discolored rash maybe? And. And I’m good enough at Knowing, now, to Know there’s no real malice behind his treatment of me- just… apathy. He doesn’t care.

It’s almost worse, that he doesn’t care.

 

[ Tank ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/8f/4d/93/8f4d9335bc0125b068d7808468f56d73.jpg) is actually very gentle, though you wouldn’t know it from his face. Face like a thunderstorm, always scowling- he almost never smiles, does Tank. Brown hair, bushy eyebrows and black eyes, square jaw of Justice. Same clothing style as his brother, but the tunic is light brown, tan maybe? And he’s got this big, thick jacket- green as poison or a green mamba; says he’s a dangerous critter and don’t you forget it. Smells like alfalfa and musk.

As our gang’s communer, he’s always keeping an ear out for what the animals around the various Tombs have to say about what’s going on. He’s also the most artistic and gentle of the three; he’s the most nurturing of his brothers. He actually gets really guilty and upset whenever he works together with me and then remembers what he has to act like outside the tombs, to keep the peace with Marin- Jet wouldn’t care. He’s not good with people, like Felix- Fee- but instead of becoming abrasive, to try and shove people away, he retreated inside himself, so he wouldn’t have to try at all.

I always like seeing his drawings, even though… He doesn’t really- he’s the shyest and sweetest of his brothers, and he tries to keep the peace. So, even though I can tell he’d actually like to be friends with me, he won’t go against his brothers. Green cloak over brown leather baldric and the normal jumpsuit and brown boots and a medium length sword and a dagger and he’s got short brown hair and the same narrow, heavy gaze of his older brothers. His cloak has fur on it? So like. Cute. He mostly ignores me, tries not to catch my eye- he feels guilty about how his brothers treat me. Good with animals, has a lemon  [ sharkdog ](http://t02.deviantart.net/ux-_xqICuaQX70rlzAXMkmMGpao=/fit-in/700x350/filters:fixed_height\(100,100\):origin\(\)/pre05/93ed/th/pre/i/2015/145/e/a/lemonshark_dog__for_leonfisk__by_colorrepublic-d8uos4b.png) , which. Cute! Her name’s Lollygag; sleeps all curled up at his feet when we're in camp, works with him in the tombs. Good dog; doesn't bite me much at all, really. She’s a nervous pupper and has a Job and a Human, and that’s just fine. Wasn’t even a real bite, it was a warning nip.

Tank is cute and I’d be friends with him.

If he wanted, I mean; he doesn’t. Believe me, I Know he doesn’t.

 

I’m… well, they’re all seventeen, the Bellevilles I mean, and Garry is eighteen, so I’m about five or six years younger than the rest. Because I- no, I was ten-ish when I started, so… god, I’m young. I- I don’t understand why they’re all so mean to me? I mean. Garry could talk to them at any time and- I don’t. No. I don’t care how they treat me, my job  **is** my Honor and I will not abandon it or them. It’s  **_still_ ** better than school.

Being friendless and mildly inconvenienced for reasons I Know and Understand is much better than School was.

 

 

So like. Marin, Jet, and Tank had all gone off on their own because I guess they thought I wouldn’t be okay with going a’venturing that day? Which. Okay, rude. And they left Garry too, which- stupid. Like, even if you don’t want to take your combat-oriented Bard on the tomb-crawl, you take your healing-oriented Cleric! Even if he has to stay at the base camp outside the tomb, it’s better he’s there to help than just- fuck, my team’s a purple Rogue, a blue Monk, and a green Druid! None of them are healers, but- even I’m better than fucking nothing!

 

(THEY FUCKING TRIED TO DITCH ME I KNOW THEY DID. No, No- Smile, Yuki. Smile, and dig your hole  _ deep. _ )

 

“Garry, why aren’t you with them?” I said.

“Um.” said Garry.

“Garry, they don’t have a healer if both of us are here.” I said.

“-oh no.” said Garry, wide eyed. Bless him, but- Garry is not in charge of the gang for a reason.

 

“Grab your big bag- the hair on my neck is going spazz-attack, and you know what that means.” I said.

 

Garry, bless him, is a bit… feather-headed. Fluffy. Quick with the healing magic, good at keeping a single location safe and secure- but he’s not all that practical. He does, however, take his job of keeping the rest of us alive very, very seriously. So- his big bag has basically an entire mobile hospital in one massive red-leaf colored pack; and Garry is terrifyingly strong, so he can carry it all on his own. With his deadly Adam wood hardingfele in it’s case and strapped to his belt, he was set for a’venturing.

He also trusts my instincts; if my neck is a’pricklin’, shit’s about to go down in a very lethal way.

 

We set out within ten minutes of my arrival, and made it up to the Storm Vent in less than twenty minutes because we were  _ running _ . Garry usually talks on the ascent to these tombs, but what with my neck prickles, which had up to that point saved all of us from grisly ends, he was real quiet and concerned.

And we were running.

We got to the basecamp the Bellevilles had set up, and it was as I had feared- their fire pit was burned out to embers and ash, no food cooking for when they returned… and Tank the Druid passed out in a pool of his own sick-! Lollydog whining and barking at him, trying to get him to wake-!

 

So. While I left Garry to his work, caring for Tank; poisoned, shit, and Lolly watching him like a hawk watches a mousehole; I considered what I would need for the rescue of the other two, because my neck prickles hadn’t gone down at all.

 

“Okay. Garry, stay here and look after Tank and Lollydog and the Camp; I’m going in after the other two. My neck’s still prickly; this isn’t over yet.” I said.

“Roger wilco, Yuki.” said Garry.

 

Tank didn’t say anything because he was still unconscious- not dead, but not in a position to make any kind of comment on the situation. And Lollydog just whined.

 

 

So, the first, introductory, level of the tomb was a frosted over mirror-white shitshow. The very first thing I had to do was feel out the beat for the first room;  [ a fast, poppin’ feeling beneath my feet. ](https://youtu.be/MJ-yuVymMLw) The first thing they teach you in Necro Dancing- move to the beat of the tomb room, and you’ll have a better time of it. 

1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4 and move! 

First thing I find is an old spear, one of those return with each throw magic spears, and I keep moving through the room. The floor goes from cold under my feet to very hot indeed- not too hot to stand on, but on it’s way, you know. A frost slime leaves a big patch of slick ice on the floor, and I can’t help sliding across it when I go to run. Throw the spear at the Lich Automaton across the room and- yes! Healthy Red Potion! Shit, that’s a wight- she’s making the floor into hot coals everywhere she walked, bitch-2-3-4-1-2-3-4. 

Takes two hits for her to go down-3-4-1-2-3-4 pick up the potion and HOT HOT HOT HOT.

 

If I move across the coals to the beat I won’t get burned and I learned  _ that _ the hard way pick up the knife the wight dropped and HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT killed another slime grab the helm 2-3-4-1 gathered 88 Charnellements so far 4-1-2-3-4-1-2-3. Forgot the Fetching Fizz no time for it now. Gathering more Charnellements and 1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4 switch the spear for a longsword grab the cuirass 1-2-3-4 HOT LICH HOT 2-3-4-1-2-3-4. Hot flagstones are shocking after standing on nearly frozen ground. Take out various denizens of the tomb- one, two, three, "Beatdown!"

Half a black tonic and the rest of my Healthy Tonic Water. Go-go-go-go!

 

Down the stairs to the second room in the Introductory portion of the Tomb- and I see Marin dragging Jet as a  [ Dracon Lich Automaton ](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o2twgRwS53k/T-Ou9TGLPaI/AAAAAAAAGL0/lbi1mJJCoXY/s1600/fantasy+icy+frosty+queen+dragon+mecha+dinobot+dinosaur+robot+sci+fi+design+drawing+wallpaper+poster+painting+nettle+by+sandara.jpg) bears down on him, on them both shit! and 2 and 3 and 4 and 1 and 2 and the room is full of choking fungal funk-nasty; I wrap the blue charnel-worker’s hanky around my face, and I dart in. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and Rhythmortis darts out 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and STUNNED grab one of Jet’s arms he’s going cyanotic heave and heave and heave and heave him to the doorway 3 and 4 and 1 and 2 and Rhythmortis hauls back and “RHYME CRASHER!” and the Dracon goes down in a crash of poison soaked metal. I necrodance back to Marin and Jet. Marin takes the shot of Werewhiskey I hand to him, as well as a hit of Black Tonic. I sling Jet onto my back, and lead us back out to the surface.

 

 

 

Back on the surface, Garry sprays us all down with an anti fungal and starts working on reviving Jet. I drink a full Healthy Tonic, but it only keeps me from second and third degree burns; nearly the whole of my foot is blistered, and my boots are a near-total loss. As the only one of the gang still mostly okay to- ow ow ow burned feet ow- do anything, I made what Mom calls an Executive Decision.

 

“Garry, you can carry the Bellevilles, right?” I said.

“Yah, why?” said Garry.

“Because we’re done for the month; we’re going to my house to recuperate and actually prepare. You can call your Jun and have him meet us at the trainstop if you want, Garry- and these three live under a bridge. We need some serious convalescing; so we’re going to my house.” I said.

“Sounds good to me- I assume there’s somewhere we can sleep?” said Garry.

“We’ve got a guest house and a whole lagoon.” I said.

“That’ll do us fine.” said Garry.

 

Marin tried to say something but I just Looked at him- I’ve never been quite that furious sick with fear and  **_how could he be so STUPID_ ** and he stopped and climbed onto Garry’s back with his brothers. Lollydog followed, making a short hop onto Garry’s head; not the first time she’s done that, but it is the first time she’s done that without prompting.

 

All of us went back to the Office, signed out- it was nearing sunset, because it doesn’t feel like a long time in the tombs but _wooo_ ** _boy._** Garry called his Beefy and explained things; his beefy said that he would see his lovey-ducky in a week (gag) and to see about straightening out that dysfunctional team of his. Slow your roll, sharknado.

 

 

I used my Alltime Pass for the train, got us all headed towards Mom. Rested my feet on Garry’s thigh so he could take a look at them- he was able to fix the internal damage, but the skin was a bit of a loss. At the very least the outer layers would grow back- but not for a few days, considering my age and the extent of the damage. Boots were a total loss, which, not surprising but still- not great. And of course, my toes were bleeding because they’re always bleeding at the end of a tomb-dance. I didn’t pass out, exactly, but I was right on the edge of overdoing it. I danced far more aggressively than I usually do and ow, ow ow ow. Fuck.

 

“Our stop is the seventh after Downtown; just shake me awake, okay?” I said.

“I gotcha, Yuki. Have a nap.” said Garry.

 

Marin was next to his unconscious brothers, tense as a bowstring across the aisle. Garry had stacked Jet on top of Tank, and Marin was watching over them as he’s the oldest and then I had a nap-attack to stave off the narcolepsy.

 

 

(What I heard Garry and Marin talking about while I was asleep went something like this.

 

_ “She was really worried about you three.” said Garry. _

_ “-she’s fuckin’ twelve, Garry.” said Marin. _

_ “She keeps to the schedule her trainers set out for her because, yes, Marin,  _ **_she’s fuckin’ twelve._ ** _ She wasn’t raised for this like we were, she isn’t as physically conditioned as we are- and if she hadn’t decided to leave immediately, no plan, no  _ **_nothing_ ** _ , the three of you would have died.” said Garry. _

_ “She’s just some shitty kid, Garry, she doesn’t-” said Marin. _

_ “She’s  _ **_our_ ** _ shitty kid, Marin. She’s not Marte- you’ve made  _ **_that_ ** _ abundantly clear- but she’s  _ **_our shitty kid._ ** _ And she was worried about the assholes who consistently bully her and make her go home in tears nearly every day- all of those people, Mar, including the one who’s broken her feet nearly every day for coming on two years. So. We’re going to go to her house. We’re going to accept whatever hospitality her family has to offer us. And, so help me, you will keep a civil tongue in your head or I’ll keep it for you.” said Garry. _

_ “-Alright. For kindness shown, I’ll keep quiet. And- whatever hospitality her family can offer us, I’ll accept. ...And I’ll talk with my brothers, too. I didn’t know we made her cry nearly every day.” said Marin. _

_ “Hmmph. Probably because I’m the only one who actually got to know her as a person. It doesn’t matter how little money she can spend, or how much of a straight laced green sprout she is, she’s  _ **_our_ ** _ poor straight laced green sprout. I’ll thank you to remember that, the next time you look at her and only see somebody you used to know.” said Garry.) _

 

 

 

So. We, my family I mean, live on Chestnut Hill, in Fiddler’s Green. That’s just about the richest part of the city. I am not poor, I just don’t like spending family money. I am also twelve- what the hell am I to spend money on? I mostly buy books, so- I don’t like candy, I don’t really want most toys, and I already have all my school and work supplies, so… anyway. The train stop I get on and off of, every day, is in Brookline.

 

“This is us. Everyone off.” I said.

“Uh.” said Garry.

 

I smiled cheerfully, then pull the stop and take Garry by the hand. The other three follow us a bit… hesitantly. Hedgerows and tall trees dapple the afternoon light a soft, warm green-gold. The smell of fresh-blooming flowers and growing things; the sounds of cicadas and the cooing of doves.

 

“Come on, guys. It’s just a neighborhood.” I say.

“Uh.” said Garry and the Bellevilles.

 

That’s right, they don’t know the train system like we do in my family; having a parent that basically built the engine in her youth will do that. Sooty Ravelle was one hell of an engineer before she became a weaponsmith.

Also, I guess only the absurdly wealthy live in neighborhoods like this? I mean, this is the area where the Summer palace, my home, is. So. Uh. I distinctly remember telling them my full name before- I guess they didn't listen. They follow me through the old cobbled streets, past banks of sweet smelling flowers, Mrs. Hayashi who always has way more snacks than I can eat- 

 

“CHAIRETE LITTLE YUKI!” she bellows

“MRS. HAYASHI TURN YOUR HEARING AID ON PLEASE!” I shout, gesturing at my chest area. 

 

Mrs. Hayashi yelps, turns the little box on, and says “Who’re your friends, sweetie?”

“They’re just the guys from work, Mrs. Hayashi- This is Garry, and that’s Marin, Jet, and Tank. Guys, this is Mrs. Hayashi, my family’s head Ewer. -Aunt Zippy still has you doing this?” I said.

“Well, you know how she is, dear. And it gets me out of the house at the most lovely time of day, so it’s really no trouble. Now; all of you have a seat and a drink of some Healthy Spring Water to wash that tomb dust out of your pipes. I’ve got your daily snacks too, of course- I do hope I have enough...” says Mrs. Hayashi.

“Yes ma’am.” we all say.

 

Which is how the rather strange circumstances of that afternoon unfolded, after the blistering fear of the morning. Mrs. Hayashi poured us all delicious spring water, minerally and cool; she fed us fresh fruit and vegetables. And we sat, quietly, and ate them.

 

Garry eats. Tank eats. Jet eats. Marin, without his broad hat, seems a great deal younger. 

 

He also eats, then says- “Why do you never come out with us to eat if you’re rich enough to eat fresh fruit every day?”

“I’m not rich, Marin. My family is- I am not. I could spend family money, but then I get oversight on my expenditures. I could get brazen about spending money that isn’t really mine, I guess, but- I actually want money of my own, y’know? Also, I’m actually twelve,  **remember?** The places you guys like going are… I don’t like going there, it doesn’t feel safe. That’s why I always want to go to the Lumpy Pumpkin; yeah, it’s a stereotypical Charnel Worker’s Tavern, but it’s a Tavern. They have to let all ages through, so there’s a standard of decorum that…

Um, anyway- Mrs. Hayashi always makes way more food than I can really eat, so- if you want to have more, it's fine.” I say.

“Oh. Shi- I. I’m sorry. I’d forgotten. Um- thank you. ...So, what’s your full name again? You’ve been Yuki for so long, I nearly forgot...” he said.

“Ah. Well- might as well do this proper, I guess. I, Portgas D. Ophiuchus Siusan do invite Belleville Mariner, Belleville Jettack, Belleville Tankard, and Quercus Breweri Garryana to my home, Tiffanyan.” I say.

The guys blink, then reply, almost by rote "I am honored to accept your invitation."

“...so you actually  _ like _ working as a tomb cleaner.” says Jet.

“Sort of, yeah. I’m really there to dance.” I say.

“... Yuki, are you ever going to explain to me why you aren’t studying at the Conservatory of Dance? I’ve got guesses, but I don’t like assuming.” said Garry.

 

I pause. I sigh. I focus and just sort of- flatten everything. Just explain what happened.

 

“I had a best friend, once. Then she decided that someone else was better. Then she decided that I wasn’t worthy of going to the Conservatory, so she sabotaged all my grades and got me- not quite expelled, but by the time I was brave enough to tell my mom about everything, the best she could do was get me in the L’ecole Necrosis. So.” I said, flat.

 

Usually my voice has a sort of rolling bounce to it, like it’s dancing along to the beat of the conversation. For this, it’s still and flat, like ice on a lake; good for skating across, and if you were to fall through-

 

“...You don’t actually like necro dancing, do you?” says Tank. His eyes are huge and sad. It’s the first time I really remember him talking to me directly.

 

“It’s grown on me, actually; I like it a lot more than I thought I would, and I’m almost good at it, now. I probably would have hurt myself doing what I did today before. I’d have hurt myself badly, I mean to say.” I say, a great deal more cheerful.

 

Marin flinched.

 

“You’re one of the best dancers I’ve ever seen.” said Jet.

“Haha, thanks- I’m not all that special, really.” I said.

“No… you’re almost  **too** good to be a Necro Dancer, Yuki.” said Marin. That’s the first time he ever gave me a compliment.

 

There was a long pause, and the warm afternoon light burnished everything orange and gold.

 

“So… your mom is…?” said Marin.

“Portgas D. Alberich Ravelle- um, Sooty Ravelle?” I said.

 

All the Bellevilles yelped.

Garry is thinking something over.

 

“Aunt Zippy is…?” said Garry.

“Oh, um. Inky Tzipporah?” I said.

“OH MY GOODNESS.” said Garry.

“Calm down, she’s- she’s just my Auntie, y’know?” I said.

 

Garry calmed down, but immediately giggled when Aunt Zippy gave him a greeting hug- she hugs as a greeting on informal occasions. The Bellevilles were a bit… discombobulated? I think that’s the word.

So anyway.

 

The five of us end up staying in my room, which is a treehouse in the backyard. Er- due to our strong personalities, or just personal preference, each of us Siblings has our own… Tiffanyan is a collection of Houses, more than one Palace proper. Um- Spadey has the Basement, while Asher has the Boathouse; Mab has the Garret, and Easy has the Barn- which isn’t actually in Tiffanyan proper, Easy doesn’t live in the City; I have the Library, and Jackie has the Cabin, which also isn’t in the City, it’s way out in the Wild. Then Atty has the Conservatory, and Gabbie has the Loft; Sisko has the Drear, and Fee has the Kennels. Del has the Tower Attic, and Tilly has the Townhouse.

And we all live in our own houses, with our own servants if we want them, and that’s that.

It’s a nice tree, and  [ a nice house ](http://static.messynessychic.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/treehouse1.jpg) , and… If I didn’t trust them with myself, I’d have never brought them home.

 

Aunt Zippy set up a big soaking tub with more pond water, and silt, and even some lily pads. For me, and my poor feet. Oh, one’s blooming, that’s an  _ ophiuchus nymphaea alba _ , I can tell because of the snake-trail patterns on the leaves- I’m avoiding the conversation.

 

“You guys don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” I say.

“Nah, it’s fine.” says Garry.

 

The Bellevilles don’t say much of anything, but Marin is… wincing. Like guilty.

I shrug, and open the door to my house. I’ve got a living room, and a study- the Bellevilles have their beds set up in guest rooms because I haven’t really used them since- anyway, and on the back porch is Garry’s pond. The guys follow me up, and we all ended up sitting around my table in the tree house living room. Awkwardly.

 

I’ve got one of the weirder houses out of all my family, because it wasn’t really meant to be a house, it was meant to be a library. Basically, I don’t have wall space, I have shelves with books on them. And I don’t have furniture- except for a few pieces that are so old… they don’t make furniture like that no more, is all I can say. I have stacks of books with pillows on them, standing in for area seating. And I have a table; I also have stacks of books with a large door across them. Just. Everything except some very specific furnishings, the altar, and my bedroom and the carpet is books. There are books in the rafters- just. Lots of books. The pennants from the ceiling are actually cleverly disguised shelving.

It’s all books. Books all the way up and down.

The guest beds aren’t books, but there are definitely books under them. I think most of the fiction-novels- not the good ones, the crappy romance novels my sister Mab put out for donation one year and- uh, it’s mostly really good erotica? Really, really good erotica. That’s all in my closet. And there’s a trunk- Mab had a  _ lot _ of erotica, actually. Like. A lot. I know they wasn’t hers, they was his, and I know she did something to the books she couldn’t keep or sell or give away and I’m fair happy not knowing what. Compost. I think she composted them. He kept a journal, of every rape he ever did; Titania, the Formless One, I mean. Wanted some kind of legacy. Mab said “no. he will not return; and nothing of him will remain in this world.” she said. After- after her miscarriage, that’s what she said. She might not remember- but I do.

I remember all kinds of things.

 

I remember the Malice of Mother Morgan so clearly- it didn’t turn me chilly, like Easy, or nervy, like Fee- that awful, pervasive malice, that grudge, that Curse- it did things to all of the young creatures under Morgan’s awful Shadow.

It made me… It made me kind, but not like Mab’s kindness. Kind’s not the right word; accepting, maybe.

I- Easy closes her eyes. Jackie leaves. Atty lets it go. Gabbie braces. Sisko observes; or she goes beserk, there’s no middle gear. Fee rambles and abrades. Del paints. And Tilly argues.

Asher tries very hard to never open his heart- he can’t, he’s too warm, to big for that. But he tries.

Spadey sneaks. He sneaks and he scuttles, walks with his back half bent to the sky like he’s scared- but it’s a lie, he’s not scared of  _ anything _ , really.

Mab is very kind; she genuinely doesn’t want to hurt or harm anyone. She loves challenging herself, achieving more than she had before- but she’d rather make friends than foes. And if you cross her, she doesn’t hold back or hesitate; she gives you one chance. And then she takes you down.

I can see more deeply into the heart of things than maybe any of my sisters and brothers- excepting Sisko, then Spadey, then Mab.

Mab saved us Littles; and Mab was such a thorn in Mother Morgan’s paw that Asher was allowed to grow into a young man without interference; and Mab outsmarted Spadey just enough to save him, too, even though he didn’t want to be saved.

That’s the heart of their disagreement, you know- not that Spadey let Mab tie the Band around his wrist, thus swearing to protect his sister for all eternity- no. It’s not that. It’s not that Mab had to protect him, in turn- because she loves her brothers and her sisters fiercely, and she’s not the kind of person who would do any less. No, Mab and Spadey are Disputing because Mab saved Spadey, and Spadey didn’t want to be saved.

Easy used to question it; then she found the philosophy of Science, and sort of… stopped thinking about it. For most of us, the answer to “Do I deserve to live?” is “Don’t think about it.” Except for Felix and Tilly, who, being the odd ducks of our family, always take the position that “I’m already alive; it’s too late for questions like that. ‘Do I  _ still _ deserve to live?’ is the real question here; so long as the answer is ‘Yes’, there’s no point in dwelling on it.”

Ace Ariel isn’t the only person in our family who thinks he doesn’t deserve to live.

Neither am I- but rather than answer it with a glib tongue, like Spadey, or rage, like Ace, or spiteful competence like Mab- because there’s no “fuck you” quite so vehement as the one in perfect form and style for the time and place; no. I answered it with acceptance, and the consideration of this question: “If I don’t deserve to live- who does?”

No one decides someone’s not going to die-  **everyone dies.**

 

 

The organizational system of my library is kind of strange- it’s organized by household category before it’s any way else. Um- and Felix is over here all the time, so, there’s lots of her books here too, and I always reshelve everthing like, once a month because I can’t  _ find _ anything and uh. Um.

 

So anyway.

 

I grab my work journal, and several books- it was a late Florian construction, with distinctive marks that I know I’ve seen before, I just need to check- The guys all jump when I drop a stack of books down. (So like, the way it shakes out- for us littles, so long as we buy something that’s obviously educational, money's no object. Meaning I can buy any book I want. Mama Rouge invented modern condoms and we’re all rich- or rich in our educations, and it’ll stay that way until we turn twenty. Then, we can spend our money however. But- for now, books.)

 

“So- I know I’ve seen the floor tile pattern somewhere in one of these books, and if I can find out about it, I’ll have more of an idea of what’ll be in that tomb. Y’all can look at anything y’want- um. I’ve got stuff with lots of pictures, and stuff that’s mostly words, and books on plants and animals and deadly Automatons and other things too. What’chu want?” I said.

“Do you have anything about healing music, specifically?” said Garry.

“Sure do. And if these don’t help, check by my drum kit.” I grab a sheaf of loose paper in a tied shut file, and pass it to Garry.

“...Animals?” said Tank.

“Check the blue shelves; I mostly have artistic representations, but there are probably some of Felix’s visual dictionaries there too.” I said.

“Plants.” said Jet.

“Over by the windows, next to the succulents.” I said.

“...Other things?” said Marin.

“Go ahead and look around, you can- you can read anything you like. Aunt Zippy will bring dinner for all of us, and- yeah, there are beds for you guys set up in my guest rooms. Um- Garry, there’s a pond for you up on the verandah, or you could stay out in the lagoon proper…? The dock’s yours, I mean to say.” I said.

“Pond-verandah is fine, Yuki.” said Garry.

 

I nod, because- dammit, what the hell was it-

 

 

 

 

And we spent the rest of the day reading various books, making notes, and eating what Aunt Zippy brought us. Felt- nostalgic.

 

(So like… You have to have a lot of liquid money to be able to throw your war-hammer through a load bearing wall, tell the people in the room you’ve just permanently destroyed to shut the fuck up, and have them do it without much more than a flinch. Mom has had shut the fuck up money since before I was born. Mother Morgan’s family has had shut the fuck up money since the 7th year of the modern calendar, and I don’t know how much longer before then. These days, it’s considered to be more along the lines of ‘No, you shut the fuck up’ money; Mab would know more about it, or maybe Spadey.

It’s very obvious who’s child I am because of my name- Portgas D. is a famous name because Mom’s the best weaponsmith in the world; and Siusan has classical roots. We all have names like that- and even though Mab changed hers on the Morgan Quilt, it still says ‘Boudicca’ on the Portgas one, which is about as classical as it gets; and also the more intimate of the two. Of course, legally, it’s still Boudicca, for Mab. Hm- Ezra’s is Breena, then I’m Siusan, then- Eolande Raisie Shaylee Rhoswen Rosina Elvina Orlaith- 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10. Yep. All of us; Mab Boudicca Tailor, Ezra Breena, Ophiuchus Siusan, Amberjack Eolande, Attwell Raisie, Gable Shaylee, Ciconia Rhoswen, Felix Rosina, Dory Elvina, and Tigerlily Orlaith. The Warrior Queen, a posy of roses, a lily, lands, a ruling queen, an advisor, and an elf friend. That’s us.)

 

 

It’s the first time in ages I’ve had any kind of study group over at my house since… since I went to school. It’s- nice. I trust these guys to have my back in deadly tombs; why wouldn’t I trust them to sleep in the same house? We’ve already slept next to each other in the same cramped tent and bedroll pile, it’s really not that big a deal. Garry is a comforting, but boney pillow; Marin is warm but noisy because snoring; Jet is extremely cuddly but smells weird; and Tank fuckin’ clings and drools, it’s… sticky and annoying. I guess I mean to say- I honestly don’t think Marin ever broke my feet on purpose, I think he legitimately forgot I’m only twelve, or was only eleven or ten. No one in my family does anything half-assed if we can possibly help it; it’s whole ass or nothing. So, I pull my weight, same as the others in the gang.

 

 

So like. The next day, my feet were so sore I couldn’t walk on them, so the guys hung out, got better clothes, ate delicious food, and rested. They also watched Felix wrestle one of our dogs-  [ the bear dog ](https://www.rachelneumeier.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/BiggestTibetanMastiff.jpg) , Twain- to the ground and shove a deworming cube down his throat. It is that time of year again.

Most of that day, we spent looking through my old art books, trying to figure out what kind of hell we were in for in the Storm Vent.

We didn’t manage it that day, but Garry did manage to catch Felix’s ferrets when they got loose which was very kind of him.

 

“Okay, this has been bothering me for a while- how do you always come back with so much charnel-gold?” said Marin.

“Oh- so, have you heard of Easy the Moonshiner?” I say.

“That’s a myth; there’s no man alive who could make those spirits.” said Marin.

“It’s a good thing my sister, Ezra, isn’t a man. -I wonder what to get Garry as thanks for catching all them ferrets I’m allergic to, otherwise Felix would have made me help...” I said.

“So- wait, if you’re allergic to ferrets-” said Tank.

“Naw, almost all of us are allergic to ferrets. But Felix ain’t.” I say.

 

All the Bellevilles looked at me, at that.

 

“Well- just because the rest of us hate ferrets don’t mean Felix has to.” I say.

 

Tank blinked. Jet blinked, then smacked a hand into Marin’s gut. Marin flinched, then sighed.

 

“So- d’you know why they put you with us?” said Marin.

“I guess there was an opening in your gang…? Oh. I’m sorry.” I said.

“No, no- it’s. It’s not your fault. Marth was our old Cleric, and he took a poisoned arrow through the eye. After his death, Garry, our Paladin, became our new Cleric, but… I was… I was closest to him, to Marth, and… I suppose I took my grief in the wrong direction by being cruel to you. I’m the oldest of my brothers, and we’re all we’ve got- and I suppose they followed me. I’m sorry; it was wrong of me.” said Marin.

“It’s alright. Although- that does explain why y’all never made me stay back with Garry.” I said.

“Naw, Garry was the strongest of us. Honestly, he’s a lot happier now; being a Paladin was never really his style. Whoo, there goes another one- how many ferrets does your sister have?” said Marin.

“Two jills and two hobs- all neuter, so they’re technically danea? But- four of em. She wants a fifth, but she ain’t convinced Ma yet.” I said.

“...Why does she like ferrets so much?” said Jet.

“Man, I don’t know. It ain’t like they’re all that nice- I s'pose they’re cute, but… Aw hell.” I said.

 

And then I lunged out of my seat and caught Felix’s ferret before- she- could make a flying leap into the tree outside my treehouse porch and heaven only knows if we’d catch her before tomorrow. I immediately begin sneezing, because I am allergic to ferrets.

 

At least I’m not allergic like Mab; her eyes swell  _ all  _ the way shut. I don’t think she’s ever seen a live ferret, like, ever.

 

A week after that, we got back to work.

Six weeks after that, we’d cleared the tomb in it’s entirety- even found all the hidden rooms what Florian’s like to use as little subclauses to try and get out of their original contracts via renegotiantion. Yeah, they started really likin’ us at the Charnel Office.

 

 

So like. The Belleville Brothers, Garry, an’ me went to Ace’s Moby for Famband one day. It’s funny- All of us together make a weird tableau of the highest of the high and the lowest of the low. Imagine; princesses and pirates, scientists and prophets, grave robbers, fish hunters, longshoremen, schoolteachers, and at least one pocket full’a mice because Felix takes her duties very seriously and  [ baby Mimics ](http://68.media.tumblr.com/cf7dca8d13f0b00b69b77fdf8a9cfcef/tumblr_ofxy54j8Kl1r5ngljo1_1280.png) need more food than most people realise. This set came from a nearby jewellry shop- dunno why exactly she has them, something about a sack and a hammer and a brain transplant…

Glad I have older brothers too, now. It was… It’s nice, having older brothers. They’re different from sisters. Dunno how to explain it- they just… are. Spadey’s the crueler of the two, though.

 

* * *

 

As my sister Ophiuchus- Yuki- plays in a scraf band with actual working class Fae- which, of course they exist, I was one of ‘em for a while. Still am, really- but they were born for it, I just wedged in and wouldn’t budge until I had to. -As she plays, I’m suddenly hit with the realization that I’ve missed all my sisters growing up- these two years I get to spend with them will only see them put the polish on before puberty turns them into weirdoes; this is the last moment I have to see them before I see them again as adults.

 

Yuki’s a thin, whipcord of a young woman; her limbs are all carefully held, in that way of someone always ready for a hell of an ambush. She moves to a beat only she can hear, and her work-gang is right behind her, dancing to her rhythm. Her hair is kept manageably short, tied back with a sweet red ribbon. Light brown boots, dark Charnel Worker's movesuit with three quarter sleeves under a  [ soft red button up dress ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/000/0/5384274/il_570xN.251883257.jpg) . Her work gang isn’t quite in their best; good clean clothes, but… 

It’s wrong to say my family is filthy stinkin’ rich. We just have more money than God is all; we try not to flaunt it, but that don't make it less true. And that's just the Portgas'; Morgan’s own all the banks.  **_All_ ** the banks; most of the hospitals too. We have since very nearly the beginning of the modern calendar, and more informally- most of current prehistory.

 

Still, her boys cleaned up nice enough to fit right in, even if their eyes are a bit- uncomfortable.

 

Let’s see now- her guys obviously went shopping at the same time, at the same place. They’re wearing basically the [ same thing ](http://img01.orientclothingco.com/orientfzimages/2015/12/25/1914176300_1.jpg) , y’see. Still, with the nix-blood on guitar and those boys on horns, it’s a full on band; they're playing trumpet, trombone, and saxophone. The beardy-blue one can really make that Sax wail; and with Sisko backing them up on piano, the music is very…

It’s very Yuki. The  [ song is nice ](https://youtu.be/nwFloCPXzCs) , sure; but it’s very… her.

  

* * *

 

“Yuki- do I deserve to live?” I said.

“You’re asking me?” she said, carefully putting her drink back down on the low table; sitting up straight and staring at me sharply.

“Yeah. Give me your honest answer.” I said, sitting across from her.

“You won’t like what I have to say, Asher; are you sure you want me to tell you?” she said.

“I want to hear what you have to say, Yuki; really, I do.” I said.

“Thrice an’ I’ll ask no more; Ace Ariel, Commander of the Second Division of Whitebeard Pirates; are you absolutely sure you want me, Ophiuchus Siusan of the  [ Flaming Heart ](http://www.buzzle.com/images/tattoos/heart-tattoos/heart-with-wings-decoration.jpg) , Necrodancer of the Office of the Dead, to tell you if you deserve to live?” she said.

“Ophiuchus Siusan of the Flaming Heart, Necrodancer of the Office of the Dead; I, Ace Ariel, Commander of the Second Division of Whitebeard Pirates, say again: Tell me your honest answer to the question “Do I deserve to live?” I need to know.” I said.

 

She sighed, long and hot and smelling faintly of rosemary. And then, her eyes snapped back open, silver blazing with some inner light I’m starting to recognize as one of my sisters, or my brother, or me, being deadly serious.

There’s a weight to our presences; even Mab, but it’s not quite like mine, or Luffy’s when he’s serious- and she’s right, she doesn’t have the King’s Haki. I don’t know what to call it, that she has- I don’t have the words yet. But… there’s something in her that will not bow, will not falter, will not break. Most of my sisters don’t actually have King’s Haki; Yuki does. 

(So does Fee; and Gabbie, too, though she hardly ever uses it. -Felix’s Haki doesn’t turn off; her abrasive commentary pierces so hard not just because she’s right- but because of how much  _ weight _ her presence can have. Gabbie… I’ve hardly ever heard her talk. With that said… Yuki’s like the Wind, almost; so light on her feet I hardly know she’s there until I see her. Felix is like the Sea; resounding and crashing on the senses- but if you can weather that first rush, then she becomes… very comforting. For me, anyway. Gabbie is solid, like the Land; if she decides something, she’s decided it. And if she won’t be moved on something, she Will Not Be Moved.)

 

“You seem to be operating under the false ideology that your life can be earned; that your continued survival can be justified. It cannot. In your mystic studies, you may have come across the concept of Equivalent Exchange; the idea that, for one thing to become another, something of equal value must be lost. I tell you now that this idea is incomplete for these reasons- some things, once gained, engender the loss of something much greater than themselves, while others require much less. As for a life, Asher;  **_there is no equivalent to a life._ ** It cannot be bought; it cannot be sold; cannot be borrowed, nor begged, nor stolen. It is of a kind to the Sun, or the Moons; the Wind and the Sea. You’re alive because  _ you are  _ **_alive;_ ** the meaning of ‘life’ is ‘to be alive’.

“Perhaps, then, you wish to die with dignity.

“There is no dignity in Death, Asher; just decay. People can talk about dying with dignity all they like, being interred in some eternal form- _it does not exist._ **_There is no such thing._** Eternity is the Lie we tell ourselves so we aren’t afraid to die _every_ waking moment; we tell it because we can’t understand Death, or Time, or anything so vast and formless as that.

“Our bodies break down, Asher; sometimes when we’re ninety, sometimes before we’re even born- but it  **_always_ ** happens and there’s never any dignity in it. I don’t care if you can walk, or can see, or can wipe your own fucking ass; it’s always **_ugly,_ ** always _. _ Dying will not be the release you search for; nor will Death. 

“It’s just an ending, a hard stop you can’t escape from; the cessation of your story. “He died. The end.” Death, in fact, is just a Transformation, and like all processes of change- natural and otherwise- the process of dying is  **painful.**

“Dying  **hurts.**

“You think it hurts to be alive?  **_You’re alive!_ ** You’re changing as we speak. Dying is far worse- because, you know that as soon as the pain stops; and it will  **stop,** Asher; as soon as the pain of dying stops, you know you will never feel anything again. Not pain, not pleasure- not joy, not regret. Nothing.

“I know this for a fact. 

“I know this because I, unlike my sisters, so steeped in their politeness, so bound to propriety- It’s improper to speak of what one experiences before they’re born. It’s not discussed. Really, it’s not; I know  _ they _ haven’t forgotten, but it’s not talked about. At least, not with the people I know, and not in the family I have been a part of, this time. 

“You may have heard something that crops up every now and again, that the little dip in the top lip is from where the angel shushed you in Heaven, before you were born. So you would not speak of what you had seen, and what you had done, Before.

“That’s a Lie, told to children by tired parents so they would  **_go the fuck to sleep_ ** . That’s not why you have that dip in your lip; your Cupid’s Bow. It’s called a philtrum, really; most mammals have something like it. Ah- I’d wondered how far your tutoring has gotten. So; a  **mammal** , Asher, is any  **vertebrate** that is distinguished from  **reptiles** by the following facts. Mammals are  **endothermic amniotes** that have a  **neocortex** , hair, three bones in the  [ middle ear ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ossicles) , and mammary glands- breasts, in the common vernacular. Female mammals nurse their young with milk, secreted from the mammary glands.

“You have a philtrum, Asher, because you’re a mammal; you are human. You were born of humans. And so, in the way of things, you have human features. If you’ve noticed- so does your comrade, Namur. That is because  **_he is human too_ ** . So does Marco- human. Haruta- human. Izo- human. Jozu- human. Your Pops, even, is human, same as you. Your mothers were human; your sire was human; your siblings, living, dead, blood-sworn, and blood-related- are human. Minfolk, Lonfolk, Seafolk, Lanfolk, Talfolk, Faefolk; even Automafolk, who look so alien to your eyes- are still human. Yes, even them- the Automata were made by humans, Asher- as all humans are. 

“As for what the philtrum is actually  **_for;_ ** in dogs, and other creatures with wet noses, it serves as a canal to draw moisture from the mouth to the nose, and otherwise helps facilitate the sense of smell. Humans don’t need it, anymore- we rely on our eyes and other senses to do what needs doing. But at one point, we were creatures that did use their sense of smell in such a way- not human at all; and should we ever be returned to such a state, there it is, to be reformed and put to use again.

“The philtrum in humans is a remnant; a remain. It’s like the flashing on a factory-made knife, or the rough edges of a fruit crate, Asher, nothing more. The philtrum in humans is an artifact of our production, a little thing that is there to show that: Yes, we  **_were_ ** made like every other chordate; we were made inside an egg. -Your egg, Asher, happened to be soft-shelled and inside your mother while you grew in it; mine was hard-shelled, and in a nest, and I had to fight my way out of it. You’re human, Asher. Just a man. Not a devil, not a monster- you’re just a man, the son of a man and a woman- everything else is just… words. Guidelines.

“As for what I remember, from the time Before I was in this World? I will say this. I have lived throughout the ages, and seen through the eyes of Bird, Beast, and Fish; I have seen suffering so awful mere words cannot express it, and I have seen beauty so radiant one would be struck blind by it’s mere presence. I have lived many lives, and been many people- all of their names forgotten, now that I am myself. 

“I have always been myself, Asher- it is merely that people called me different things. Different names. 

“I have seen through many eyes; and I have been seen by many eyes; and I have seen many eyes. 

“If you are alive for long enough- if you remember the times you  _ were _ alive enough- you will start to see the same eyes in different places and times, staring out of the faces of different people. I have seen your eyes before, Asher; not just in the mirror, or in Mab’s face when she used to stare out at the Sea at night, with such a burning longing in her- no. I have seen your eyes in many Ages; your question, such as it is, is not a new question at all. And I’m a fucking grave digger, Asher- if I can’t be honest, who can?

“You want to know if you deserve to live? And  **what** will you do with the answer, I wonder? Die? Knowing what you know now; could you simply let yourself die? I doubt it. But fine- you’re alive, Asher, and  **_deserving_ ** has nothing to do with it now. Maybe you did; maybe you didn’t. Here’s the better question you seem to be avoiding- it doesn’t matter if you deserved to live, you’re already alive- it’s moot. The question is: Do you  _ still _ deserve to live? So long as the answer is ‘Yes’, I don’t think you’ll have a real problem.” said my sister Ophiuchus Siusan. 

 

“But- that’s not really...” I say, weakly. She’s right. I was avoiding that question, and now that she’s asked… not having an answer for the question “do I  _ still _ deserve to live?” is somehow worse than not having one for “do I deserve to live?”. She’s right, after all- it doesn’t matter if I did deserve it or not, I’m alive.

I’m- Alive.

 

“Consoling? Hnneheheheheh; the Truth does not exist for your consolation, my brother. It just  **_is_ ** . Funerals are not for the Dead’s satisfaction; they are for us, who get left behind- mostly. The World is not held upon your shoulders, nor does it turn with the beating of your heart; should you leave, this World continues. Asking if you deserve to live- it’s the worst kind of question because the answer won’t actually change anything really important.  **You’re alive already. And, one day, you will die.**

“Asher, we  **live** with dignity- we can’t die with it. It’s not a thing that exists; it’s not real, or true, or even a useful Lie for children. And you are a man grown, now, learning at the side of the Queen of Swans, Judge of the Damned; the time for childish platitudes is long past.

“You want my real opinion, about if you deserve to live, my brother?  **Fine. -** **_Fuck you,_ ** Asher; find your own goddamn answers.” she said.

 

That was not the Answer I wanted; not the Answer I expected, or thought I needed. But it’s the answer I got from my sister, Ophiuchus. And- above all else, it’s True. She didn’t lie, or Lie, or sugarcoat it; I asked for her honest opinion, and she told me I wouldn’t like it, and I said I wanted to hear it anyway, maybe needed to hear it- and goddamn if we weren’t both right.

 

Ophiuchus- Yuki- took me to her workplace, once. Just once. Of all my sisters, no other is so intimately knowledgeable about the process of turning a corpse into a graven adornment, and then further, into- dust. Fertilizer.

 

When you get right down to it, we are only mist and dust and echoes, at the end of things.


	11. 05:00; Childhood's End

I opened my eyes in black mud and with massive beetles crawling over my skin. The inside of my elbows ached and itched, and my whole body felt like a bruise.

I closed my eyes again.

 

I opened my eyes to a vast presence, an ancient being who means me no harm, but cannot save me either; a female creature who guards me. Her regard is akin to starlight on a moonless night; ancient and inscrutable, but not uncaring like the Sea.

I closed my eyes again.

 

The third time I open my eyes, I wake, and sit up. I was sweaty, was hot was itchy with dirt and sweat and the smell of hot oil was everywhere. A red ladybug the size of my hand gently clung to my chest; I watched her gently clamber down my chest, watched with dull eyes as blue swallowtail-winged beetles dipped and nibbled at the inside of my elbows, patched strange holes in my skin closed. Dull eyes saw that Kabuto-slingshot was cracked clean in two pieces, the heavy yoke intact but the long shaft split across it’s short span broken into a staff and exactly the wrong kind of bow and broken what do I do now what do I do.

Heart rattled in my chest and oh god oh god oh no oh no-

Breathe. 

Back, panic; return to your kennel! Anxiety, we talked about this!

Stood up from the mud, picked up my broken slingshot and the remains of my bag don’t be wasteful don’t have a knife don’t have many options. Beetles mill and circle beneath and around me don’t step on them they aren’t dangerous be careful excuse me excuse me. Canteen is intact, heavy gourd wrapped in string and leather, bag ruined but might be able to use- something- no knife at all, shit. Kusari-fundo; upgraded to the metal chain version, that’ll come in useful.

A rustle came from behind me and I didn’t know it then, I was too busy gathering every intact container and box I could find, gently stepping around pudgy beetle girls who carefully helpfully handed me things, wrapping what they gave me in my sash and rigging my extra sling-string to carry everything and then behind me a massive shadow and more louder rustling punctuated by sharp-quiet pops and then I knew. I froze and turned all the way around and saw- the biggest [ female rhinoceros beetle ](http://bugguide.net/images/raw/FKB/RRQ/FKBRRQ1RRQVRMQFR0QK050YQN0FRIQ1RZQWRRQUR80Q0IQ3RW0L0W0H0X0VRM03QFK9RRQURYKTR.jpg)I’d ever seen in my life.

Her shell was glossy black and dark brown hairs poked out from between smooth chitin. From her big sparkling eyes came an undeniable sensation of deep compassion; a gentle creature. The mother of the little beetles? They’d all been helping me, together. She asked me to gather my things, to climb astride her. And so, I did.

The Lady Rhinoceros Beetle- Asteria-sama, I would later learn- moved at a respectable clip, taking me from the black earth where a massive paw had smashed me into the ground and where Kabuto had been broken. (Fuckin’ Kuma.) We went over deeply broken earth and through trees and hills and dales and the stink of rotting oil was foul in the air. I saw a flock of birds eating a giant dinosaur and then, in turn, get devoured by plants and I knew it then that wherever I was surely more dangerous than anywhere I had been before. We were escorted by an- honor guard- of beetles, insects, kin to their mother, the Lady Asteria, guardian of the Boinsea.

Eventually, we went from a strange deadly forest to a massive cliff. The sensation of being asked to dismount, and attach myself more securely to her carapace. I slid from her, and untied my things from my back and took the chain of the Kusari-Fundo and I tied it into a belt I could secure myself to her back with and I sat back on her back and made myself secure. I gathered my things and strapped myself to her back and then she threw herself from the cliff and flew with a great buzzing and she winged over a forest that smelled of burnt french fries and meat and had roiling green-serpents devouring creatures foolish enough to take the bait that grew there.

She flew me from that forbidding place and gently set down near a village, bade me slide from her back and go into that strange seaside [ place ](http://images1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130601111841/monsterhunterespanol/es/images/0/02/Moga1.jpg). I did, but only after she promised to come with me, introduce me to the people there. There were masks over every doorway, and- AAAAAH!

 

“AAAAAAAAAAH!” I screamed. Even now, I'm not really sure why.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” screamed [ a tall woman in strange armor ](https://gyazo.com/9e00205221c458dc06a28b27bd3f92d0). I think I know why, now.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” screamed the both of us, for very different reasons.

“HOY! BOTH OF YOU CRAM IT!” shouted a hunched old man.

We stopped screaming.

 

The old man hopped off of a small bench, stalks out. Looked me over with a gimlet eye, my bundle of crap, my muddy body and shredded clothes and glassy expression and the patches over my arms where beetles had been tending to me. The Lady Asteria conveyed- something. I wasn’t good enough at listening and interpreting her Voice to understand what she said to Old Man Moga; but he was and he did and he told his granddaughter, Malila, to take me to the Hunter’s Abode and give me proper Hospitality.

 

Malila hissed, then sighed- said “An’ it be the will of Asteria-princess, I’ll oblige.”

 

The giant beetle- Asteria-princess? Asteria, she nudged me forward, encouraged me silently. Her regard is warm, and gentle, and deeply compassionate. I- I trust her, more than I realized I could trust a giant beetle. Then again, she’s a rhinoceros beetle; she can’t sting or bite me at all, right?

 

‘That’s right, dear.’

Um.

‘Ah, you can hear me now. I can smell my dearest on you- I am Asteria, who guards this village. I bid you welcome to my home, oh child of the Sea. Be warned; you have entered a Fae Realm.’

Uh oh.

‘Pax, little pirate. You are under my guardianship; you will not come to harm. Hotheaded Malila is impulsive, but she does not mean you ill; if you do not wish to help her fulfil her duty, she will not be offended, merely disappointed.’

Huh?

‘Ach; I am sorry. The hour grows late, and the day old; you must rest, and bathe, and eat, and partake of pleasure after so much pain- there is a balance, to these things. Come find me in my [ abode ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/33/42/9a/33429a5b5b8b82cf93d24b889f547e80.jpg), when next your courage rises. Old Moga can tell you how to get there from the village; it is not far to walk, nor dangerous. I have much to teach you, on that day.’

Um. -and then she was gone, and I was very confused.

 

“Hoy! Come on, Gramps says you’re to stay at my house. Come, come, I’ll show you the place, give you proper Hospitality. Ugh- you’re filthy, though... Tell you what- we’ll pop round to the baths after you stow your gear, aye, and then I’ll give you my Hospitality.” said Malila.

“Uh- yeah. Yeah, okay. Wait- w-what _is_ hospitality?” I said.

“Reh? You don’t know-? Auhm, well; Hospitality here means I’ll give you a place to sleep that’s safe from the elements and wild beasts, and food to eat that won’t sicken you, and I’ll help make you a new weapon if you have need of such, and of course, in return, you’ll help me fulfil my duty.” said Malila.

“Okay…? That seems pretty straightforward.” I said. 

This, right here, is where I agreed; everything else that happened was because I didn’t ask her what her duty actually _was_. Honor is binding indeed.

 

I followed her pale curvy shape in it’s dark skins and strings, the sweet wedge of her peach and the soft curve of her spine okay, I am horny. Okay. Set my things inside; and Malila dragged me off to the baths. She had me naked and scrubbing under the showers faster than I could say anything to the negative.

And then she started scrubbing me down too. Her hands were delightfully cool on my sunburnt skin, soothing away the pain and the dead skin and the dirt, and when she wrapped her cool hand around my hot cock and stroked, her other hand coming around and gently cleaning filth from my balls, cupping her hands in the spray and pouring it over my sweaty flesh. She peels the skin back away from the red tip of my cock and strokes soapy fingers over and around the tip, the slit, her cool slippery fingertips wiggling into every crack and crevice before she cups her hands again and sluices the lifted filth away. My back knots with arousal- I want, so badly, to cum, to fuck, to- something. **Anything.**

 

But Malila is not- aaah! I don’t- I- nnnngh!! S-stop. Stop! 

“Stop!” I whimper.

“I- what is it, what’s wrong?” said Malila.

“You’re not either of m-my lovers, I hardly know you- I’m not- stop. Please, no more.” I said.

“...I will not touch you again in that way until you allow it, but… you did agree to help me fulfil my duty.” she said.

“I- sorry. No, no, I can’t- not right now.” I said.

“I can wait. -Maybe later?” she said.

“...Maybe.” I said, hot cum leaking down my legs. I spent myself anyway.

 

Malila’s cold slippery fingers rubbed little circles on my hips, her eyes riveted to my quivering cock. Her breath was hot and wet against my neck, and a soft whine was vibrating against my back, between the soft pressure of her breasts.

Being watched by a stranger as I cum- that’s a bit- ffffaaah!

I spurt again, thicker and hotter, and Malila’s whine becomes an outright whimper.

 

“...Ttch, such a **_waste_ **...” she said.

“S-sorry?” I said.

“Nothing!” she said.

 

Here’s the thing; there was no oath of, of monogamy- polyamory?- between me, Luffy, and Mark. But. I don’t feel comfortable doing any kind of sexy-anything with anyone other than them without talking to them first.

And Malila’s Duty was not… it’s not the most apparent thing. You wouldn’t catch it on first glance alone. I didn’t.

I honestly just thought she was a pushy woman who wanted to fuck me absolutely silly- and goddamnit, I would have let her if I knew for a fact that my lovers wouldn’t object. But, of course, at the time, I did not know that.

So I didn’t let her. 

It’s weird, sleeping in[ a new place ](https://the-games-blog.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/Monster-Hunter-3-Home_bmp_jpgcopy.jpg). The first night, it feels like- where am I who am I who is that breathing across the bed because there’s only the one and her honor demands we share don’t touch her don’t touch her think unsexy thoughts don’t touch her.

I woke up to Malila’s cold, sweaty body draped over me, sticky fluids dried hard holding patches of our skin together. We didn’t fuck; I know we didn’t, I don’t actually have wet dreams, I always wake up before ejaculating- the fluids were from her. Mostly it was just sweat sticking us together, not anything more exciting than that.

 

The next few days are mostly- helping Malila gather tough seagrasses and spiderwebbing, thrash them into threads and watch her spin them into string, watch her weave them into fabric; help her cut and pin and then stitch it all together into- clothing. For me. Loose trews, new socks; new belt. Soft tunic, heavy hood and vest-thing.

I go through my things, what came with me in the Fall; my ammo came through alright, but without Kabuto, I can’t really shoot any of them. Not sure what to do, but Malila is.

 

“What happened to your bow, then?” she said.

“It’s a slingshot, and- it broke in the fall. Not sure what to do, now. I need to get to Sabaody to help my captain, but… I’m a sniper. Can’t snipe with no weapon.” I said.

“Hm. Talk to Asteria; the shaft of your old slingshot looks to be made of elm, aye?” she said.

“Aye.” I said.

“Hm. I think I can make a bow for you. I’ll write up a list, but- you need to talk to Asteria-sama. She’ll be able to teach you about the dangers of this archipelago.” she said.

“...” I didn’t say.

“-Did you not listen? You will be eaten or killed; can’t you hear the song of the trees? Ach, Man-of-Sea; go and speak with Asteria until you can hear her plain!” she said.

 

And then she started throwing things at me until I ran out. I crashed into- tripped over my duffle from the ship. Wheeled my arms and swayed. Grabbed my duffle and hup hup hup into the house. Run back out before Malila wings me with a plate or something. They’re made of wood, so- ow! Fuck, too late.

 

Asteria-sama lives on a giant sap-tree, where thick flows of honey ooze out of rents in the soft waxy flesh of the tree. The smell is thick, now woody, now honey, now that strange cucumber smell of beetles. I sit on the low stone of her courtyard, gaze into her gentle eyes.

 

‘Malila kick you out, then?’

“Yeah.”

 

The sensation of amusement.

 

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up.”

‘Hmhmhmhmhm. What did she say, if I may ask?’

“She said she’d make a new bow for me but I'd have to talk to you first-”

‘-ahhh. You’re going to need some materials for that, and no mistake.’

“She said she could use the elm of my old slingshot pole; I don’t… I don’t really understand how, though.”

‘Aha. Let me tell you of my people, young one.

‘Because the Skuan people, the People of Sky Blue; **my** people, live and lived and always lived in an environment where survival skills are always of the utmost importance, it was a matter of course that they should develop excellent tools, both civil and military. One piece of equipment that is of great significance in war as well as in the daily life of the Skuan is their composite bow. Perhaps this bow is not quite as well-known in the World as the Amazonian Snake-bow, which is the most famous bow ever to emerge in the past four-hundred years, as far as the Grand Line is concerned.

‘Yet the old Skuan bow is incomparably superior to everything else seen in the World. Not until the advent of breach-loading firearms in the 1300’s was the Skuan bow decisively surpassed as a long-range shooting tool, and even then it is still unsurpassed in some ways, mostly in accuracy and stealth. Even now, the Skuan bow remains a formidable tool for targeting, war, or hunting, and the people around the Boinsea- which is this area you are in now- regularly use these bows for hunting and war. I shall now describe the bow in detail so as to make it clear, to you, dear man of the sea, the abilities and powers of Skuan shooting equipment.

“When I am speaking about Skuan bows, the first thoughts go to their military use, although hunting and target practice certainly are more prominent activities. Every day is not filled with war, after all, but hunting and the training of various skills are generally part of the daily routine. However, I shall start with the military aspect. 

“In the Skuan military, each soldier carried two bows on beetle-back. One bow was for long-range shooting, and the other for shooting at close distances. Also, each soldier had two quivers with arrows for different purposes. To mention but a few of these, there were armor-piercing arrows with a particularly heavy arrowhead of tempered stone, there were incendiary arrows for setting buildings afire and spreading fear in the enemy ranks, as well as whistling arrows for signalling. Of course, the majority of arrows they carried were ordinary arrows where the arrowhead and length of the shaft were adjusted to the normal range at which the particular type of arrow was to be used. The standard, according to Air Commander Alfwynn of the year 312, was that each soldier should have at least sixty arrows with him or her. Aye; it merits mention that the strongest and most courageous Skuan women rode along with the men and fought bravely and died, same as any other soldier would die. Also- the women who did not ordinarily participate in military activity nevertheless had to learn how to wield the bow, as a necessary skill for self-defence as well as hunting. Even today, every Skuan child is taught something of wielding a bow.” said Asteria-sama.

“I can hear you much more clearly, now.” I said.

“Good. Keep listening, my son.

“I shall now go into the details of the Skuan bow. As I have already mentioned, it is the most capable bow in the World, and probably always will be. Even though the modern firing armament is in some ways more convenient to use and can be made significantly more powerful, the sheer simplicity of the Skuan composite bow with its complete independence of foreign equipment and complicated parts that the archer cannot easily repair or replace makes the Skuan bow on balance a superior solution. In order to show the Scariba of Skua and their extraordinary bows the proper respect, I shall speak mostly in the present tense, which also serves to emphasize the salient point that these things can, and are, done today as well.

“The Skuan bow is not as large and long as the Amazonian one, but it is vastly more powerful. The draw weight of an Amazonian longbow averages around 70-80 pounds (or perhaps you would understand 32 to 36 kilograms), whereas the Skuan bow has a pull that averages at around 166 pounds (75 kilograms). I shall also state that the pull varies from 100 to 160 pounds (45 to 73 kilograms). This seeming discrepancy certainly reflects the fact that draw weight varies with the strength of the user, and with what use the bow has been made for. As can be expected, there is a considerable difference in shooting range. Whereas the Amazonian longbow can shoot at distances up to 250 yards or around 228 meters, the Skuan counterpart can hit its target at 350 yards or 320 meters and, if the archer is well trained for the task, even beyond that.

“...There is an anecdote from 700 years past, where an Este king was holding an assembly of Skuan dignitaries, after his conquest of Medjool. The archer, Yoichi Sharpeye of Hemidactylus, shot a target at 335 alds in the old measurements, or 536 meters in the modern. While the tale itself may be apocryphal, there is no question that the Skuan archer and their bow are both outstanding in all of archery’s history.

“Ah, it is come to sunset- young man, return to your home with Hotheaded Malila. Come again tomorrow morning, and I shall speak further of the Skuan war bow she shall make for you.” said Asteria-sama.

 

I blinked- Asteria’s Voice was so lilting and hypnotic, I hardly noticed the passing of time. Through the sudden throbbing of my eyes and ears and skull I stagger back down the switchback trail under the row of God-gates towards the village. I fall into the house I’ve been sharing with Malila for days, interrupting her with her hand cupped between her legs, fingers delving deep into soft pink flesh lit by moonlight off the sea and my eyes my skull my ears rang I could barely- see-

Sat heavily on the bed and ignored Malila’s squeaking sighs, pulled my shoes off and heaved myself into bed. Malila’s hot breath rubbed down my neck and into my ear, against the side of my face. Her breath smells like honey.

Malila smells nice and is very beautiful and I- Can’t. I can’t.

She does this every night, in her sleep. Yes, it’s fucking weird. I’m not entirely sure I’m ever going to get used to it. That night was not the first night I would be hurting too much to care, but it was the first night I went straight to sleep and didn’t wake up again until the grey light of dawn; considering Malila masturbates at least four or five times a night- again, in her sleep- this was quite a feat.

 

 

In the morning, my head felt… it felt like I’d gotten into something I was allergic to, almost. Strained? Or maybe like I’d been trying to learn something just a little too hard for me, and I was still wrung out from the effort of it the next day.

Breakfast was fish steaks and fresh fruit; Malila kicked me out a bit after breakfast, said she needed to do laundry and I needed to go talk to Asteria-sama again.

So I went, because I’d already said I’d go.

 

 

I walked back up to the tree and sat at Asteria’s bench. She’s more… more. I hear her clearer than ever.

 

“Ah, young son. You have returned, as I bid you. Good; you’re learning to hear me better than ever.” she said.

“Thank you, Asteria-sama. May I tell you my name?” I said.

“Certainly; be assured that I shall not forget it.” she said.

“I am Usopp Sharpeye, son of Bachina and Yassop.” I said.

“Well met, Usopp Sharpeye. Now, remind me- did I speak of the construction of the Skuan bow whence last we spoke?” she said.

“Nay, Asteria-sama, we did not speak thus.” I said.

“Ah. Then I shall speak on’t.

“I shall speak more of the Skuan bow, with attention paid to the method and materials of it’s construction. If you were to take a closer look at the Skuan bow, you shall see that it is an intriguing construction indeed. The backbone of the bow is a wooden frame, which will typically be birch, because that wood is both resilient and is also available. Elm is also often used, more typically for war bows. The total length of the frame is 150-160 cm. When the bow is unstrung, it looks like a semi-circle with a beautifully curvaceous shape, but when a string is attached the whole thing is stretched out so that its limbs are bent inward. Even so, these limbs with string attachments are bent slightly away from the archer, forming a double curve. It is this double curve that delivers explosive acceleration and awesome velocity to the arrow. It is important to note that Skuan arrows are often the size of Amazonian arrow-heads, the remainder of the necessary shaft being created out of pure Armament Haki.

“From these limbs or bends of the bow behind the string attachments where the impact is greatest, the frame is covered with elongated and flattened pieces of kelbi (or other wild or domesticated ungulate) horn and-or bone which adds snapping power to the resilient wood in the frame. These hard parts form a layer that covers the whole area of the so-called belly, which is the part between the grip and the limbs. The back parts of the bow, nearest the archer, were those covered with horn and-or bone while the sinew layer was applied to the outer side.

“You will have noticed that I use the term horn and-or bone. This is because the precise details of how the bows are built can and do vary over the Skuan area, also known as the Star Sea; although the main features are clear. The bone elements, when added, are no more than a small part at the center of the bow, and may originally have served ornamental and magical purposes. Now, however, they serve as a fetish or tuning apparatus for the Skuan Archer’s Haki.

“Stand and stretch, dear, we’ve been here for half the day already.” said Asteria-sama.

“Oh. Oh **ow-** ” I said.

 

I stood, and I stretched, letting my spine snap and crackle back into place. I stretch my legs, my shoulders, accept the canteen a large [ kinsect ](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/monsterhunter/images/4/41/MH4-Kinsect_Render_002.png/revision/latest?cb=20140122054913)\- how do I know that red beetle is actually a kinsect-

Wait a second.

 

“Asteria-sama, you’re not just teaching me about the history of the Skuan bow, are you.” I said, sitting down heavily. I took a long swig of my water- it was my canteen. Asteria-sama wouldn’t hurt me, didn’t hurt me- protected me. The water’s _fine,_ anxiety, get back in your shame corner.

 

“Of course not, dear. That would be a bit- **_slow,_ ** don’t you think? Best to do it all as quick as is safe.” said Asteria-sama.

“So- I- foebeetle?” I babbled.

“Hmhmhmhm. You are in a place far more dangerous and vile than the open sea, dear son; you are in the Boinsea. This is the ancient cradle of the Skuan people, and though most left for the sky when the Talfolk encroached on our ancient hills, many still remained. This is the place from which the one I love hails, all through her blood; the one with hair of blackest blood and hunter’s wing, the one who wields a spear and reigns as Queen over her people.” said Asteria-sama. Her voice had lost none of it’s inherent goodwill and kindness, but a note of stern purpose rang through like steel. 

“Oh.” I said. She means- my crewmate, Mab.

 

“Oh indeed; I surely do.

“As should be understood by now, a composite bow by definition has several layers. I have mentioned the wood frame, and the layer of horn and-or bone. In addition to this, there is a layer of specially prepared Adam-wood bark whose purpose is to protect against the penetration of moisture. In addition to this again is a layer of sinew, which is taken from deer, moose, jaggi, baggi, or other game animals. The tendons of domestic animals may also be used, but Skuans feel that tendons from wild creatures are the strongest and best, resulting in a superior bow.

“Naturally, the bow has to be glued together. The preferred and traditional substance used for the impregnation of both leather as well as the bow is fish glue. As a matter of fact, fish glue has been proven through millennia to be highly capable of resisting moisture. Moreover, it is more durable and lasts for longer than modern epoxy resins, which are prone to fatigue and failure. Above all, fish glue is available in all the oceans of the world, including the Star Sea.” said Asteria-sama.

“Um- how is fish glue made?” I said.

“Ah. The process that yields the highest quality is to take swim bladders from freshwater fish, soak them into hot water to extract the glue substance, and then boil the resultant soup for a prolonged period. If sufficient quantities of swim bladders cannot be obtained, it is also possible to make hide glue by boiling animal skins. This latter method however results in a glue of inferior quality, because it absorbs moisture, whereas glue made from ichthyic air bladders is highly moisture-resistant.

“-Although all materials needed to build the proper Skuan bow are to be found in the immediate natural environment, the whole production process is very complex. It takes a long time to build a bow that is to meet the Skuan requirements. It may also be assumed that the selection of the best wood material for the frame requires knowledge and experience.

“Stand, Usopp Sharpeye; go have lunch with Old Moga. We will continue your education three days hence today.” said Asteria-sama.

 

 

I staggered back down to the village, and unsteadily wove to the only restaurant in town.

Allegria the Fox-type Mink runs the place; says she likes cooking for people.

My eyes were nearly swollen shut, and my head was throbbing.

Allegria set a plate of perfectly cooked meat scraps and sliced roast pumpkin down in front of me. Another daintier Cat-type Mink girl, no less than fourteen and no more than twenty, was washing the dishes, and gave me a glass of cold fresh springwater with a gentle chirrup of encouragement.

It felt like my ears were going to ooze out of my brain, like my eyes were liquid and sloshing in my skull. It- the food was nice, but then I had to have a lie down and I slept again through the night; didn’t notice Malila, naked and cuddling with me until I woke with the dawn again. Sweat through my clothes and scrubbed down before breakfast. I think I get why Malila sleeps nude, it is **_hot_ ** here, but I- I’m not really comfortable with that. Maybe just underwear? 

Yeah, just underwear; it's annoying having to wash my everything every morning. The water isn't really cold enough to wake me up.

Fish steaks for breakfast again, this time with sweet fruit juice and rice. I don’t know what Malila wants from me; my instinct says she wants me to get her pregnant but… I’m not comfortable doing that and then just leaving. That’s- that’s not who I am.

And especially not without talking to my actual Lovers, first.

Checked the duffle. Found Mab’s letter. I was unconscious for longer than I thought, back where Asteria-sama found me. Still not comfortable with- having sex? Fucking is something different, and Fornication is something else again; not comfortable, either way. Not brave enough to just talk to her about it yet.

I'm not- brave enough.

 

Clear eyed and clear headed and with an anxious heart, I tie a net, make fish hooks, gather more seagrass so that Malila can thrash it into rope. I gather fish from the river, follow it up to the lake and bring back many, many fish. Or that was the plan; it takes two days for me to realize I need to hold still like I’m sniping, need to aim and twist the net like **_that_ ** and then- fish. The third day, I help Malila take the swim bladders from the fish I’ve caught, squeeze blood from them and stack them twenty thirty forty deep and fill her cauldron with water, set the pot to simmer downwind of the village and let the glue making commence.

 

Glue making **stinks.**

 

The fish tastes nice enough, though, get lots of useful things from them; whetstones, skins for a heavy jacket meant [ for gunners and archers](https://gyazo.com/b3d2919ab8654da335f0062ac54c3b02). A new bag, even. (I caught some very large fish.)

 

 

I return to Asteria-sama’s abode, stinking of fish glue, ready to be taught more.

 

“I smell you have begun the process of making a bow for yourself; or rather, getting the materials for Hotheaded Malila to make one for you. Good. -I am sorry that you did not wake in the village, Usopp. I have no limbs with which to carry you to safety; and I could not leave you where you lay to get help, you would have been eaten. You would have died.” said Asteria-sama, her short-cute antenna drooping with sadness.

“It’s alright, Asteria-sama. I understand why you did what you did… and I guess we couldn’t really communicate then like we can now, aye?” I said.

“Aye. Still- you are owed an apology, and I do apologize.

“Now.

“Although I stated three days ago that all the materials needed to build the Skuan bow are found in the immediate natural environment, I realize that I should have made it clearer that it should not be assumed that just any materials will do. The selection of the best materials for the bow require knowledge and experience. It is lucky indeed that Hotheaded Malila has the experience to make the bow; you merely need to bring her the materials from which to pick. I have, in our past two conversations, given you the knowledge of plants, animals, and minerals native to this archipelago; I shall continue to educate you in the manner my beloved was, eleven years ago. Eventually, you will have enough knowledge to gather the materials in such quantity that Malila Bowyer can pick the best for your eventual bow.” said Asteria-sama.

“Is that why my head’s been all but exploding after these conversations?” I said.

“Of course.” said Asteria-sama.

“...” I said.

“Dear boy, you are gaining more than simple Knowledge of the land; you are learning to **_listen_ ** and to **_see._ ** You cannot hope to use the Skuan bow properly without such- and as I understand it, you are to stay here for some time, training, aye?” said Asteria-sama.

“...Yeah. I am.” I said. It’s- I’m getting the feeling that Asteria-sama knows everything that happens in her village.

 

“I do indeed, Usopp.

“Now- the usual procedure in the production of a traditional Skuan bow is as follows: The wooden frame is cured, and the horns and-or bone to be used are boiled for softness. This makes it possible to fit the different parts together with great precision. It is no over-exaggeration to say that high-quality Skuan bow making is a feat of impressive craftsmanship; indeed, due to the very vital nature of any crafted item in Skua, all such things are, by necessity, feats of impressive craftsmanship. 

“When the wooden frame and the horn and-or bone parts are ready, the sinewing can take place. First the tendons have to be dried. After that, they are crushed until they form a mass of loose fibers. Next, this mass is mixed with fish glue to form a solid but not rigid layer. It is important to apply the correct thickness and amount of sinew, and it is done in a two-stage process with some days in between. Too little makes the bow weaker, too much would make it stiff. When completed, the layer of sinew could be a thick as a human finger before drying.

“Sinew has a peculiar quality: unlike other materials, its strength increases when subject to stretching or impact. This form of elasticity is a property stemming from the very most basic structure of the tendons, a substance called collagen, and can be seen as another striking demonstration of the innate quality of Skuan solutions. When used in a Skuan composite bow, the effect is that as the horn plates in the front snap back to their former shape, the sinew layer in front contracts in the same split-second, adding further acceleration to the shot as the arrow is propelled forward. For this reason, at full draw in the hands of a fully trained Skuan archer, the traditional war bow can slay a Giant in one shot.

“That is quite enough for this day; go rest and hunt, and return to me in four months. You have work to be doing before I teach you further. **Hunt** , young man. Thou must hunt.” said Asteria-sama.

 

I swayed back into the village, and crashed into bed next to a furiously masturbating Malila. My head ached too much to care.

I woke at dinner, devoured a fish steak and some tasty veggies. Made out with Malila but- no.

Five nights of listening to her sexual frustration; five days of gathering herbs and mushrooms and airweed. I crack. Screwed my courage to the sticking place.

Her skin is soft and warm and smells of honey and- no.

 

“No.” I said.

“Why not?!?” said Malila.

“I- you want me to get you pregnant. That’s what you want, right?” I said.

“Yes! I’m related too closely to everyone in twenty kilometers in every direction, and I’m fucking forty-seven, so it's not like I'm too young! I mean, I still have plenty of time but it’s not like I can just go and find a man-!” said Malila.

“I don’t want to get a woman pregnant and then just leave her, even if- I. I can’t. I’m only seventeen, I can’t-” I said.

“There’s literally no one else, please-” said Malila.

“No! Do you even know my name?” I said. This desperation isn’t who she really is; and I don't understand her.

I need to understand her, before this goes any further.

 

“I- I- aargh. Usopp, your name is Usopp Sharpeye, of Gecko Island; and I am Malila Bowyer Moga. I- I’m sorry. The Fae blood is strong in me, and winter brings out the worst- I’m sorry. I- I know you have good reasons to not want to- I’m sorry. You can stay in your own house-” she said.

“-No, it’s alright. I sleep in a dorm, normally- privacy isn’t really a thing. I just- I can’t get you pregnant and just leave, like it’s nothing. My- I can’t be that kind of man. And I don't- I don't understand why you want me to. Please, please explain it to me.” I said.

Malila sighed.

 

“I want to be a mother so badly- and I need to, as well. I’m actually good at the domestic arts, I actually like the domestic arts, and I **love** children, and I **_don’t_ ** need or want a Husband. I need to have children for other reasons too- at this point, it’s a matter of Honor. I just- I can’t impregnate myself, and there aren’t any women who want me- and I can’t- I need a man that isn’t… isn’t a cousin, or an idiot. And I was never any good as a hunter, so that’s right out.” she said.

“So- you picked me?” I said.

“You’re not an idiot. You’re not a cousin. You’re strong and handsome and disciplined and considerate and so **_smart-_** you understand Asteria-sama after only three conversations with her, aye? It took me twenty years before I even got the gist- I just… There are options, but they involve giving up my freedom more than I have and my safety too and I’m just- stuck. I suppose I am a coward, after all...” she said.

“You're not a coward, Malila. -I’ll think about it. I need to talk to my lovers, first, before I can really get right with it- but… if it happens, I won’t run.” I said.

“Thank you.” she said.

 

Malila is fully adult; only wants me to get her pregnant, doesn’t want me as any kind of mate. She’s warm and soft to the touch, and she smells of honey. She wants to be a mother, and she doesn’t want to use incest to become one. I can respect that; I just. She’s pushy.

I don’t know.

 

* * *

 

_The story was passed from Asteria-sama to me, and it is thus:_

 

_The Folkwar was a dread thing, whence brother fought brother in cold blood and the World was sundered. The Knowledge of it has been passed from generation to generation, lip to ear, wing to wing, in the hope that such a thing would never come to pass again. For aye, the tale to tell is of a dread war, more terrible and bloody than any before or since; a war of unmatched ferocity._

 

_The Four Fae King-lands were thus- the Learned Cherubim, from wild Moor; the Noble Fairies, from hidden Glen; the Faithful Sirens, from Valley Broad; the Wild Djinni, from empty Fen. An it be known to you; the Fae of the Four Kinglands did always cover the bones of their dead kin in the eternal metal, Gold._

 

_One dark and Fateful day, the secret of the Fae Hills was learned by the Talfolk, who at that time were captivated by their lust for gold. On a black’d horizon, they came; towering figures who tore open the ancient hills and took from them the quiet dead. Their brutal assault drove the Fae into deep despair, and from the quiet dead arose an unending curse; a great madness overtook the Fae, and they fought the ones who had dared defiled their graven hills. The forests were burnt to ash; the land’s sweet springs were choked with Giant’s blood; and the Fae murdered without hesitation._

 

_The first Royal Guard, Inara, saw madness overtaking her people; oathbreakers, vile betrayers, and Worse Things. She saw the Goldlust of the Talfolk for what it truly was- a burning desire to posses the great power protected by Her Grace, who sat at the edge of time; the First Queen, Ariel._

_The power Ariel and her court guarded was without equal. Handed down by the gods of old, this power gave its holder the means to make any desire a reality. Such was the might of the ultimate power the old ones placed in the care of Her Grace._

_Inara chose to protect her lady, and so she sent the untainted land- of which there was fair more than that which had been defiled- into the sky, beyond the reach of the Talfolk, beyond even the clouds._

 

 

_But to do this thing, Inara Moga had to remain behind._

 

_And so, from thence to now, her descendants have remained, guarding what once was; protecting ancient tombs that still remain intact amongst these hills._

 

_An’ the wheel bends, an’ the story ends._

 

* * *

 

So- Mab said a long time ago that Fae Honor **_is_ ** their Job; and… I think I get why Malila is so desperate, now. This might be her only chance to continue her Line without doing something… immoral. That doesn’t mean I like her very much- she’s nice enough, she’s just… she doesn’t like leaving the village for anything. She’s no adventurous soul- she uses a glaive, can hunt better than I can, but she’s got no heart for it.

She lost- everything. Following in the footsteps of her parents; following the path they laid out for her... it made her lose everything.

She's a dark, painful reflection of what I could have been and I can hardly stand it.

 

She’s on the verge of losing everything else, too- her honor, her Dream, everything. Her Dream is to continue her family legacy; I can understand that.

I’m just not sure I want to continue all of mine. My dream is to become a Brave Man of the Sea- it’s always been unspoken, the part that goes ‘like my father before me.’ I-

I know now that I never want any child of mine to feel like me, I never want any child of mine to have a dead mama and no father and no one there at home, empty house empty life and nothing to do but smile and lie and carry on like it doesn’t matter. 

It matters.

I don’t ever want my child- any child of mine, ever- to say to themselves “I don’t care, I don’t care” never want them to have to say it so hard they make themselves believe it. Before Mama got sick, before she died, I had a treehouse. And then she died and then I didn’t because I- No. I can’t.

I don’t ever want any child of mine to set fires in the forest because they can’t hold onto their feelings, because there’s no one to help them anymore and they have no one to turn to. No.

No, I do not want that at all.

 

I know now that I cared so much that I could almost have bled to death with it, I could have torn my heart out and threw it into the uncaring sea with how much I cared.

I know now that I longed for the sea because: if you go to the shore at night, you will hear the crashing of waves endless, endless, and you will know more true than anything that the sea does not care. The Sea does not care about you.

I longed for that kind of- distance. Unceasing, unending, but now-

I don’t want to be the kind of man my father is. I don't want to be so much like the sea. I don’t want to be the kind of man that- when I meet him, what do I even say to him? I’ve never- Mama had pictures of him holding me as a baby, but I’ve never gotten a letter from him. Just- just a wanted poster on the board, just stories about him courting my mama and _**he wasn’t there.**_

_**I needed him and he was not there.** _

I- can’t.

I can’t do that to someone I’ve never even met; I can’t do that to someone who doesn’t even exist, yet.

I cannot do that.

I will not do that.

 

 

 

I have enough ammo now to go hunting; only have a kusari fundo and a hand-slingshot, which will have to be enough. I follow a trail out into the forest; deep incline on a steep hill, leading finally to the outer gate of the village, and then another long trail; and then, a cliff. A high, empty cliff, where kelbi deer graze across browned grass. I gather grubs for bait, more mushrooms, wrap the chain of my kusari-fundo around the legs of a kelbi and carefully remove it’s horns, tie them together and put them in my hunting pack. Gather four, five, six, pairs.

 

Go back to the village.

 

Give the kelbi horns over to Malila’s gimlet eye. She picks the best of the batch, says the rest can be sold. I take them to the trade shop, sell them for beri. This repeats day after day; I gather more horn, warm pelts and mushrooms, airweed from the shore. I comb the beachsand sometimes too, gathering sharp stones and one day, a long sharp tooth, not made of stone nor metal but a true tooth- half a beast’s jaw, some creature meant to eat meat and crush bone. The bone wasn’t too heavy, but it wasn’t too light either; felt… almost comfortable in my hand. Took it to Malila, who laughed with delight on my behalf.

 

“This’ll make a fine knife for your hand, aye. There’s even spots for magic stones, see? They’ll help you carve more dangerous animals for parts; it’s easy enough to snap off a kelbi horn or tug off it’s warm fur, but for your bow, you’re going to need Jaggi Tendons at the very least.” she said.

“My hand-slingshot isn’t strong enough to take down a jaggi, and I’m not a hand to hand fighter.” I said.

“That _is_ a conundrum... Tell you what- I’ll carve this into a knife for you and make you a simpler bow- not as strong as the full Skuan Warbow, but something that can at least take down weaker beasts. I didn’t need all the kelbi horn for the full bow- I’ll make you a simple longbow, aye.” she said.

“...Don’t jaggi sometimes spit lightning?” I said.

“No, they’re just aggressive.” she said. Then she handed me a [ knife ](http://www.atlanticcoralenterprise.com/ProductCart/pc/catalog/allknifea_1552_detail.jpg). Whatever else she is, Malila Bowyer Moga is a damn fine weaponer.

 

“Talk to my grandfather about magic stones to put in your knife- he’s just up the street. Also, the Minwoman, Allegria, might have something to talk to you about.” she said

“Thanks, Malila. -I still don’t feel comfortable with getting you pregnant.” I said.

“Hmmph. Well, you might change your mind. Here’s your [ bow](http://i.ebayimg.com/00/s/NDE2WDQwMA==/z/YZcAAOSwcwhVLjbr/%24_32.JPG).” she said.

Then she threw me out.

 

I talked to Old Moga; he’s a half-bent old man, bushy eyebrows, long beard, with the half grin of a terrible, terrible pervert.

 

“Ach, my Malila still hasn’t convinced you-” he said.

“NO SHE HAS NOT. Anyway- she said to talk to you about magic stones to put in my knife…?” I said.

“You want stones for your huntin' knife but don't have the stones to stick it in my sweet granddaughter, Eeeey-? Sorry, sorry; you’ll need this pick. You should know which stones will yield ores you can use, and if you bring me enough of them I’ll make a better pick, better armor, and charmstones for your knife. And if you get my grand daughter in the family way, I’ll even give you a discount!” he said, then started cackling. Pervy old man.

I took the pick, and stomped off to Allegria the Mink’s restaurant. I sat at the counter, and listened to what she had to say- it went something like this.

 

“Back in the day, nyan, this village was a trading hub for the surrounding islands. Hnyan, there’s a lot of things that happened, but chief among them- for me, at least- is that, since Malila can’t hunt anymore, not until she has at least one child of her own, there’s a much smaller selection of what can I can cook up. Here’s my deal- you bring back tasty nibbles for me, and I’ll cook ‘em up for you! Think about it, Nyaaaaan?” she said.

“Sure. I’m going out again- gathering special, please?” I said.

“Nyan, coming right up!” she said.

 

 

 

This is what I have to say about Jaggi.

 

**FUCK. JAGGI.**

 

This is what I realized about Jaggi after I got over hating the fucking nippers. Jaggi are highly social, carnivorous bird wyverns that live in large packs. Young Jaggi males hunt in groups when attacking larger animals, and have been known to steal wyvern eggs. It’s been suggested that they operate under orders from a single alpha male. Female Jaggi that stay in groups, Jaggia generally cluster around the nest to defend it and raise whelps. Smaller than mature males, but larger than and tougher than the countless young males. Jaggia also operate under an alpha’s orders. The Great Jaggi is the commanding alpha male of Jaggi packs. Most males leave the group upon reaching maturity, returning to compete with others. The dominant male then becomes a Great Jaggi. Apparently, they can issue fairly complex orders via howling.

They will attack a Rathian if one is in the area.

I know this because I saw them do it because a Rathian nearly killed me. Got enough Jaggi Tendons to be getting on with, but- Rathian. I’ve- dragons, I’ve been _hunting dragons._

 

This is what I did when I realized I’d gone dragon hunting, and returned victorious.

I helped Malila stretch the Jaggi and Jaggia tendons on the rack, helped her clean every piece of beast-bone pulled from Jaggi-chewed carcass I brought back.

And then I got her pregnant, because I just went dragon hunting and my Warbow isn’t done yet and it’s only going to get tougher and more dangerous and I’m alive. Oh Malila, I am a man and [ I am alive! ](https://youtu.be/9W44NWYwa1g)

Malila smells of honey and is soft to the touch. I- explained how my father wasn’t anything of the kind, how my dream was to be a Brave Man of the Sea like him before me- but knowing what that really means, now- I swore I’d become a Brave Man of the Sea, and it was implied I’d be like my father before me.

The truth of it is, no one can really be like anyone else- you’re only ever really yourself, just wearing some kind of mask. I- I can’t be the kind of man that doesn’t care, I said. I can’t be that much like the Sea- though the only peace I’ve ever known is upon the waves, I cannot be so kin to it. I cannot bear to ever become the kind of father mine was; I can’t. I can’t be the kind of father that leaves and never knows his child.

 

I won’t do it.

 

Malila Bowyer Moga understands; her mother was a great hunter, and her father, and her grandfather- but she finds no pleasure in the Hunt. Even when she still had her kinsect partner, she didn’t really like hunting, but she did it because she wanted to make her grandfather proud.

She swore to uphold her family legacy- and she came to realize that the legacy of her family was never hunting, but guardianship. Hers is the family that guarded the Fae Queens; hers is the family that works in tandem with Asteria-sama’s many children and grandchildren to protect the archipelago from invaders and beasts and- everything.

And she never wants to be the kind of person her parents were- the kind of people who leave and don’t come back. The kind of people who don’t **want** to come back. The kind of people who kill their child’s partner kinsect and flee for the wilds.

We are of a kind- and for that much, at least, I can swallow an unspeakable truth.

 

 

Here’s the lie- no, no lies.

 

Malila is warm and soft and smells of honey, and when she reaches for herself my hands get there first. I know what to do- I’ve done it before, for Mark. Malila is not Mark. She sighs with pleasure, and our joining- is not all that fun, the first time. But I’m alive, and so is she, and I have to hunt dragons.

I- I’m a coward, really. I don’t want to leave this world with no one to show for it; no legacy to leave behind. It’s a weird thought to be having at my age, but there it is.

We keep trying things until it gets good. And then we keep trying good until it’s great. I’m seventeen- I’ve got stamina to spare, for that at least. And… it’s not like I’m a slow learner. She’s hot and wet and strong and supple and her pale skin burns under the bloody-haired light, the cold blue light, light and color turn her skin radiant where my hands touch leave trails of sparks and her sighs of pleasure are-

The way her soft warm mouth fits against mine, the way her soft blossom swallows my seeds and the shuddering pain-goodness of fornicating- oh god, **_yes-_ **

It’s funny- even when you don’t love someone, if you like having sex, it’s still a good time. Sex, uncoerced, willing and for the pure pleasure of it, for fornication and no love- it’s not quite as good as lovemaking, but that’s like saying a sugared doughnut isn’t quite as good as a glazed one. If it’s warm from the fryer, you’ll still eat the whole thing, sugar or glaze- and in those moon-stained moments, I fell into the white space beyond the darkness of my own closed eyes, love or no love. Hot, hot and warm inside her, soft like pudding, warm like bread. Good, warm, wholesome.

Not as filling as homemade, but few things are.

 

Malila- I don’t love her. I don’t love her; I care about her, I’m not made of stone, but- it’s not quite love. I just… don’t. And I can’t stay, is the thing- I cannot stay here. Not- forever. And, most importantly- all the hunting beasts in this archipelago, save possibly the kelbi and the wild bugs, are some kind of dragon. I could very definitely die hunting and training here.

So- I got Malila pregnant, and I refuse to regret it.

 

 

Mab, when she stopped by- not the first time, the second time- (the first time we basically just cuddled in bed, because I needed real no-strings affection and badly) she left a way to keep in contact with the rest of the crew, so it’s not like I’m alone. Except for the part where I really, really am.

 

"I- can’t be the kind of father mine is. So- I guess I’ll just have to be the kind of father I am." I said to her. I explained a bit about Malila.

 

When I had finished explaining, Mab grinned and said “I won't say if it was right or wrong. Only you can say that for sure- but, Usopp, you know- if you can survive here, you’ll be able to handle anything the Line can throw at you. More importantly- you know you can write Malila letters, after you’ve gone, right? And she has a photography camera, and- it’s not like you can’t be a part of your children’s life, if you want. And- talk to Bry, too, she still has more phone-snails than we really need.

And you already know you need to talk to Luffy and Mark, so. I'll leave the 'about what' to you, aye?” she said.

And I said “Oh. Aye.”

Mab is stunningly practical, and very… permissive? Accepting? A good and supportive friend; I’m glad to have her, honestly. 

That really had been worrying me, actually- I… I don’t really like Malila, but she’ll be a good mother, and I don’t mind the thought of her having my kid. Kids? I do want to have children, really, and I’m a pirate. I might as well start now, aye?

I mean- I go out into the wild places on the Boinsea and I hunt fucking dragons, there’s- the chances of death are high. And I'll be leaving for the World's most dangerous ocean eventually, and the chances of death  _there_ are even higher. And- Mab’s right, as she usually is: it’s not like I can’t write letters for them, get pictures of them. It’ll be better than- My father is a Brave Man of the Sea. But I think- I’d have rather had a coward who was there, even a little bit.

Still- I can’t stay. I cannot stay here, in a village that isn’t home, and hunt dragons all my life. I can’t do it. So, I think I’ll- yeah.

 

 

Talked to Mark and Luffy about what happened. Luffy thinks the whole “hunting dragons for their meat and bits” thing is cool as shit. Mark also thinks that’s cool as shit, but also- if I want to have kids with him, he’s a man with a fully functioning vagina and uterus and would be down with that at some future point.

Said that considering all the practice me, Luffy, and him have had with the making of said kids, actually having them would be a nice adventure- after Luffy becomes King, of course. To which, I say- sounds like a plan to me. Luffy says that if kids are what Mark wants one day, then kids are what Mark will get; from each of us, even.

Which.

Considering what me and Mark have tried to get Luffy to orgasm, is a fun thought to consider.

And they both said that I wouldn't be the person my father is- Luffy said "Usopp is Usopp" and Mark said "you'd never be that person, I won't _let you_ be that person. Put it from your mind."

God, I really fucking love those two. See, anxiety, they weren't so angry that they stopped loving me! Back in your corner I say!

 

 

 

It’s weird- I’ve never had to be so close to a pregnant woman before. Never got the opportunity, before.

Malila’s body expands, the pouch inside her body- my kid, kids? They’re in there, I’ve felt them shifting around at night, they’re- _alive._ I’m not sure there’s a word for something that’s miraculous and creepy as hell, too. Awesome, maybe?

Her skin gets hotter and hotter, and she gets steadily less and less comfortable, wants stranger and stranger parts of creatures to eat. Mab comes by about the seventh month of Malila's pregnancy, gives me a hunt for a special kind of flower- says I need to gather the stamens from the sandy side of the mountain and to watch out for the flying eels.

Goddammit Mab.

I do it, of course; but like I said- I don’t love Malila. I don't really do it for her sake- we're... just friends, I guess, but... I don't care enough about her. Not like that. Not enough to stay for her; not when I’ve got Mark and Luffy to return to on the Sea, where I belong. I- is this what growing up means? Is this what being brave is? Understanding what you’re afraid of and deciding if you’re going to let it stop you- is that what courage is?

-I don’t want to be my father. I want to be brave because I’m tired of being scared of everything all the time. I- I want to be a part of my children’s lives, as much as I can. As much as Malila will let me.

And I don't want to stay here for the rest of my life.

 

 

 

Skuans usually have more than one child per pregnancy- it’s a Royal trait to bear twins, but most common Skuans have triplets or quintuplets. I’m… just a little bit concerned, actually.

Malila’s gotten really big.

Mab says it won’t be long now; says Malila’s in the final stages, she's having twins because she's basically Royal now, and I need to go to the sandy scree cliffs and gather a specific kind of flower for her, different from last time I went flower Hunting.

Says it’ll help keep my kids and Malila Strong, for the birth. I go; nearly get eaten by- doesn’t matter.

Gonna kill that tetsucarba, fucker.

 

Got back. Held Malila’s hand during the birth. Twins; boy, girl.

 

Held them.

 

Felt- nothing. That’s a lie.

 

I held them, and there it was- love. Boiling, burning. Couldn’t say I don’t care, not when there was an entire volcano where my heart was, pounding for two wiggly squalling things.

Babies. Mine.

Can’t stay.

Attached now- it’ll hurt, when I leave. I’ll die if I stay.

I have to be happy now, I think- anxiety, I know I'll be sad later, that's why I'm being happy now.

I'm being happy now so I can withstand being sad later.

 

I talked to Bryony about what I want; she said that the Revolutionary Army needed allies, and that I obviously needed a secure phone line. So she sent me snails- apparently Tuner found a smoochy frenemy, and now there are more quick-sliming, tough natured snail-friends wiggling around than she can shake a fist at. So- Quiver and Jolt, are their names- or those are the ones that Malila picked and named and keeps in her house. Still pretty young, with simple rigs. She also ended up keeping the rest because, actually, Malila really likes Transponder Snails; more than she ever liked Foebeetles.

When I told Allegria about them, she told me that she actually had a job for me; if I would go around to the various villages around the archipelago, and give these communication snails to her sisters all across the Boinsea, she’d give me a treasure she had no use for- the Sharpeye Ammo Pouch, a near-bottomless bag that would safely store and sort any ammunition I could put into it. Apparently, Allegria Persimmon Sharpeye is descended from the ancient Yoichi, and- so am I? It’s the nose, she said- no one had a nose quite like that except him. Mink traits covered it up, in her family; but obviously not in mine.

[ Allegria Sharpeye](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/b6/ff/11/b6ff1195758a99c4156c585e545f698e.jpg) is my distant cousin; distant enough that we don’t look like each other much at all. Which is understandable, considering she’s a Fox-type Minwoman and I’m just a Lanman. Our noses are more… **_more_ ** than most, but on her, it just looks like a more pointed snout than you’d expect on a fox person, and on me- well.

Still- it’s a relief to know. I’m not alone; my mother was not the only other Sharpeye in this world.

I am not alone; I am not the Last.

 

So.

I took the Quest; I wrote Bryony and Mab, and about a week after that- the last week of my distance from Asteria-sama- Mab came by with a massive pack full of snails and rigs, and a very large sketchbook for me.

She said that if I was going monster hunting, I’d probably like to make drawings and notes about what I hunted- for posterities’ sake, y’know.

A handsome gift for the first of my children; legacy, planting trees I never get to see.

Then, together, we went all across the Archipelago, giving the many, many sisters of Allegria Sharpeye their own secured snail-line and making the first telecom network in the Boin archipelago- not ever, but for a long time. Met all my cousins. Nice people, all sorts- and all of us have the nose. It’s a thing.

I got the ammo pouch; it’s a strange, oddly heavy bag, rests against the small of my back without being obtrusive. Has a [ strange mark](https://ih1.redbubble.net/image.226482389.8291/raf,750x1000,075,t,9ec0d5:0d26d5c715.jpg) on it; Allegria said it's the mark of our family, our clan; our Kingdom, when we had a kingdom- we set the bounds of our kingdom with stones that could speak, she said, and the stones were marked with our symbol. It breaks down like this: three beats to shoot, the eye, the arrow, and on the ammo-pouch, the stars abounding.

We were never Royal, she says; but our Line is ancient and Noble, all the same.

Take care of the Treasure of our Line, Usopp- the Ammo-pouch is one of many; I am speaking of  ** _you_** , and yours, dearest cousin, she said.

I hugged her- she smells like food-grease and musk and sunlight; and she hugged me.

It's good, to not be alone.

 

Took Mab up with me to speak with Asteria-sama.

I left them to reunite; gently pet some of the kinsects as Mab and Asteria-sama cried with each other. Listened to the kinsect Voices to give Mab and Asteria-sama their privacy; found a pair that agreed to be my children’s kinsects.

Malila couldn't bear to come here herself, she told me- she told me that she could teach them smithing, fighting, the basics of hunting, as could Allegria but this one thing- this thing she could not do, not for a while; maybe not ever.

So, I did.

Isn't that what parents are supposed to do for their children?

Provide for them, I mean? 

Went back to the village with two very young kinsects, freshly pupated and slightly soft still and a proposition for Malila; she agreed to name my cousin Allegria their godmother, so… if anything happens to her, they won’t be alone. Malila agreed to teach them how to wield a glaive, care for their kinsects- said I'd done a good thing for them, was already a good father to them; that fathers are guides, first and foremost. Allegria agreed to be their godmother, once I explained the concept to her- said it was a fine tradition to use, agreed to teach them archery if either wanted, or cooking, or even both; said it was a fine thing I was doing, more than she ever expected of me. Said that- if they wanted to know, she’d tell them all she knew of who I am.

Said they'd always be allowed to speak to me on the restaurant phone; said they'd always have a place at her table.

Said I was a brave man, to ask this of her when we barely knew each other- said it took a real man to give thought to the safety and security of my children when they were grown and far from my help.

-So they won’t be like I was. Sharpeye Chusopp and Moga Banlila will never be as alone as I was; Asteria-sama herself swore it, and I’m of a mind to bet on the three hundred year old Warbeetle who swore to protect the Boinsea as her sisters and her mother did before her. I myself picked kinsects who, with Asteria-sama’s blessing, will be with them their entire lives.

Malila lost her kinsect- that’s why she doesn’t want to hunt anymore, though she truly never wanted to hunt. It's why she **_can’t_** hunt anymore- it’d be like if I lost an arm or an eye, it’s just not safe for her. Her parents killed her kinsect and now she cannot hunt- she said they did it so she wouldn't follow them, wherever they went. She doesn’t feel safe going outside the village anymore. I understand, even if it’s- sad. It’s just sad.

 

 

So anyway. At each stage of a Skuan war bow’s construction, fish glue is applied to secure all the parts. In the horns and wooden parts, the sides that are to be glued against each other are first grafted with a toothed special tool in order to give the strongest possible hold.

The last step is usually the applying of the protective Adam wood layers, which are carefully boiled until soft, so ensuring a proper fit before glued to the finished bow. When the layer of wood has been added to the composite construction, the whole bow is wrapped tightly in yet more sinew and placed in a form where it is allowed to dry and harden in even temperature- meaning in the old stone cave near Asteria-sama’s abode for one year or more. This ensures that the bow becomes extremely strong and that it keeps its shape and snappiness even after many years of frequent shooting.

A Skuan bow is stored in it’s own leather case, protecting the bow when not in use. My bow case is lined with Blango fur, and held closed with sharp blango claws; outside, it’s studded with cephalos scales, to absorb moisture, and Jaggi scales, because they’re pretty. The case proper is all hardened jaggi hide under hardened ludroth hide under hardened slagtoth hide, really; most of my ammo is simple rocks and bird wyvern fangs.

I got zamite fangs for my new armguard at the recommendation of Malila; said that the snap of the war bowstring would wear through my old one in hours. Said that the warm hides and soft pelts I brought back in addition to the fangs were perfect for the twins; bunting, liners, baby's first armor set. I brought back more things, too; bigger, better hides. Stranger fangs. Things Malila knows how to store so that, when the time comes- if the time comes- my children will have what they need.

 

No bow, no matter how powerful, can be shot without a string. Traditional Skuan bowstrings are made from animal hides; and the more dangerous the dragon the hide came from, the stronger the string. First, every trace of fat is removed. Thereafter the hide is stretched and twisted. After this treatment it will not stretch, but remain taut. Although the skin of many fur-bearing animals can be used, Sea King skin is often preferred since it is said that this material maintains suppleness in the exceedingly vicious and varied conditions of the wide World, while also being truly long-lived. While the intestines of animals can be used as string material, the hides are preferred- gut-string isn’t water resistant and thus is only suited for dry and hot weather use. Silk and cotton, and mixes of these, can also be used. 

When the bow is strung, the archer may sit down, using both feet to press against the bow as the limbs were bend while the string was attached. Using another technique, they could also stand upright, bow bent under one leg while the other leg holds the outer end. On beetleback, the Skuan archer routinely strung the bow by placing one end of the bow between the foot and the stirrup while the arms pressed against the bow.

-Asteria-sama’s eldest daughter is named Hekate; and Hekate-chan decided that she would be my mount, that she would be my kinsect, for as long as I do live. Considering that the Skuan riding beetle- the Warbeetle; lives upwards of eight hundred years, are omnivorous, and before the eightieth year are approximately the size of a large plate… I suppose she’ll be fine?

I have a beetle friend now. She’s about the size of a large cart, maybe? She says she’s about one hundred fifty years old. Strong enough to lift three people, or just me and Franky. Sturdy, stubborn, looks just like her mama, Asteria-sama; wants to adventure, with me. Wants to fly across all the seas of the world.

 

Hekate-chan is the one who actually taught me the technique for shooting, after Malila made me a ring for my war bow. The Skuans have their own technique for shooting, y’see. 

The Skuans, if right-handed, keep their bow in the left hand, pushes it forward as the right arm pulls the string all the way back to behind the ear. The left arm would now be fully extended, and the release is near. However, now comes the purpose of [ my ring. ](http://heartwoodbowsonline.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/clip_image010.jpg) Since this bow has immense power, the Skuans have to use a special technique to hold the string during the drawing of the bow and before the arrow is released. The technique is as follows: the string is held by the thumb, since this is the strongest finger. Still, it is not easy to hold 76 kilograms comfortably. Thus, the thumb is supported with the index finger curling around, placed atop the outermost joint, exactly at the base of the nail. The other fingers are also curled, forming a fist. Even so, this is not enough. Thus, the Skuans use a special ring on which the string is hooked before release. This thumb ring, a tiara-shaped cylinder that fits around the outer part of the thumb and protects its pad from damage as the string is released, is typically made from Skuan jade or agate, but leather, metal, and bone is also known to have been used. Mine is made out of third-growth tetsucarba tusk. It’s more commonly used to plane Adam wood.

Malila also taught me to cuss like a Skuan archer; three fingers- thumb index middle- up, the other two down, palm facing myself and arm outstretched; gesture at someone with your hand like that. That's "go to hell". Full hand open, flat, palm facing myself and arm outstretched; gesture. That's "fuck you". Flick the fingers from the first one open and wag the flat hand back and forth- that's both at once, and the worst kind of insult I can really give. Like- if I want to start a blood feud, that's how I do it.

 

Skuan soldiers used to shoot while sitting on beetleback, and with deadly accuracy. This was done by skillfully timing the shots to the moment when the wings of the beetle were on the down-beat, so as to avoid disturbing the archer’s aim when they hit the air.

Typically, bird wyvern fangs are used for basic arrows; all the various fangs and scales can be used for one kind of arrow or another, but bird wyvern fangs are most common for deadly ammunition, while pop-greens are used by the expert archer. (Hunting for dangerous plants is somehow worse than hunting dragons. I don’t know how, but it is. Thankfully, once I had enough seeds, I could start cultivating the kinds of ammo I wanted, which was both safer and more productive.) The normal length of an arrow is between eight and ten cm, and the shaft’s diameter is around 10 mm. As for fletchings, tail feathers of jaggi are common, but feathers and wing parts of all creatures are usable. Wing feathers flow less smoothly through the air, so if possible, the tail feathers are used. Skuans, across the Star Sea, pay very close attention to the minutest of details.

The arrowheads, or points, could be everything from big game killers- hide piercers, to bone and wooden points suitable for small animals and delicate insects. The high impact of the bow ensures that a bony point will be lethal when hitting the body of a smaller animal or an insect. Whistling arrows are also useful as distractions; they are made with bones that have channels carved through them. (The sound of these arrows really is very distinct.)

 

 

If I were a different man, I could have stayed in the Boinsea- the place where the verdant earth is rich and black, where dragons roam the earth and light the air with their fury. I could have stayed with Malila and my children, raised them as my father never raised me- but at the same time, I could not. The Land is no longer my home; there is no peace for me to find upon it. Every time I would return to Moga Village, I would smell the air off the sea and in my chest would come a great longing to go to it and flee this place. I would stand on the soft sand shores of the archipelago’s many beaches, and ache for the waves.

A man cannot live torn in half- and though my mind painted memories of my childhood like phantoms filled with longing, my heart burned for the sea. I can remember longing so much for my father to return, longing for someone- anyone- to care for me like my mama did. But there was no one. And yet- Moga Village is not Syrup Village. Asteria-sama has fought each and every creature to be found in the Boinsea. She has defeated all of them for three-hundred years; and knowing what I know now, there is no way her oath of guardianship will ever be broken, not while she draws breath.

One day, my children will ask of me “Why did you not stay with us?” and I will only be able to say to them-

“Is there no place where you feel in your heart a deep and gentle peace, like sitting in Asteria-sama’s presence but **_a_** **_place-_ ** a house, a road, a valley; **my** place is upon the Sea. I could not have stayed- the man worthy of raising such fine children into man and woman grown would have died. I couldn’t do it- not to myself, not to you. I’m sorry.”

Maybe I won’t say all of that. Maybe I’ll just say “I’m sorry.”

 

It’ll be more than I ever got.


	12. 18:00; The Ecstasy of Meat

Jackie is a brave, crazy woman and I love her to absolute pieces. She gave me a house so the mist wouldn’t cover my mind anymore; she gave me lenses through which my eyes can see. She gave me a stone that I could hold onto, a place from whence my eyes could rest. Though it now pains her to return from the Wilds which have become her home, she did for me. And though it wearies her to be among so many, to speak to so many within the space of mere hours, she did so for me.

 

My sister Jackie is Fair and good and beautiful and I love her very much.

My brother Ace is different; Fair, to be sure, and Fae as anything, but he’s…

It’s like this.

 

Moda, Gran Royal of the Sargasso Sea, was able to teach Ace to sail the ship Mab built for him in about six months. Her crew was able to teach various members of the Second Division, of which Ace is commander, how to properly sail and live on the rivage Wild Card Bend.

However, there are some things his Division simply isn’t suited to provide- as far as I can tell, he has a lack of officers and gardeners. He needs a Head Chef who can handle feeding him alongside the rest of his crew. He needs a Gardener who can balance the needs of food against the needs of aviation. He needs a Navigator who can reckon not only by the Log Pose, but by the stars, the wind, the waves, the animals; all things in the World.

His division is actually quite frugal, so he doesn’t need a treasurer, but he does need a Musician- because Ace, though musical, is not a musician. He needs domestics too- A Sewing Professional, primarily. On a rivage, which is technically soft-hulled, it’s absolutely essential.

Soft-hulled is what we call it when the boat or ship is hulled with fabric- canvas, usually, though what kind of canvas depends on the boat and how much money you can spend. Silk is actually standard, but there’s more than one kind of silk.

 

Danelphe put knowledge into his mind- as Moda gives him context for that knowledge, it becomes less things he’s learned, and more things he understands. It’s interesting seeing the change unfold in him, week after week.

Oh- Jackie hasn't come back from her Delving yet. Damn timeline; I hate it when I accidentally read ahead.

Still, it’s interesting seeing him change from a Man into a Man Grown.

 

So- hm. The prophecy of Ace Ariel goes like this- I think. Actually, this is the collection of his omens, I don’t ever remember any of the prophecies I make, just like Mab can’t ever seem to finish hers.

 

My brother Ace Ariel has a sword hanging over his head; and another, bracing the sword from falling. They are bound by black threads, and as Ace Ariel’s fulsome flame is tempered with the Embers of Sophia, the threads of his Doom become ever clearer. He is not ready to defy his Fate, not yet- he has wisdom, Danelphe’s blessing saw to that in addition to Sophia’s Embers, but it’s not yet settled within him. He has not yet begun to make use of what he has access to; though knowledge is blooming in his mind, he has no experience to back it up. He courts Leviathan; and so the wisdom Danelphe gave him will become like water, and nourish his soul again. Yet still, he lacks courage, and faith; and so his trial shall continue. The Great Lion, he has not leapt from her back; Leviathan, he has not gathered her fang. Should he do these things, he still will not be ready to defy his Fate; for as the Embers of Sophia in his care number seven, so too do the trials set before him number seven, to ensure that the powers he gains from his first three trials are mastered in their entirety. Only then will he have the ability to seek out The Queen of Swans in her Lake, there, at the edge of Time, and complete his education. His crew, though competent and doughty, is incomplete- he needs a Navigator, a Chef, a Gardener, a Musician, and a Sewing Professional.

And above all, he needs to learn to Believe.

 

 

He’s not ready for all of his trials. He’s barely ready to consider the fact that all actions have consequences. However, if what I’m reading from the portents and omens is correct, he’ll be gathering his Navigator, his Gardener, and his Chef quite soon; there’s a high possibility for the Musician as well, but the Sewing Professional isn’t ready yet. (Ready or not, here they come.)

He hasn't even  _gotten_ his Embers of Sophia, much less learned what they actually **are.** Jackie's going to be disappointed that she's missed the Meatsiah; I'll ask Aunt Tiny to make her some boudin, maybe some blood pudding? It's the happening she's going to be upset she missed, she doesn't really care about burgers all that much...

 

I can only think of three people who fit the bill and also would be willing to go and **_also_ ** also aren’t tied down to the Land or high-flung in the Sky; it all comes down to Wavy Rancheros, Nadia, and Parsnip Parboil. The musician… the musician will resolve itself, one way or another. As for the sewing professional- I’ve got no goddamn idea, really...

 

 

Let me explain- no, there’s too much. I’ll try and sum up what it’s like, being me. Let’s start at the beginning- the Portgas Pyramid of Better Living goes like this. 

There are nine levels of the Portgas Pyramid; the First, basic, most simple level is as follows.

Frankness (cut the bullshit); Skepticism (believe none of what you hear and only half of what you see); Facial Hair (full, thick, square- If you have to sculpt it, you shouldn’t grow it); Living in the Woods (live on the bounty of the land); Anger (fuck this and hold my beer); Security (secure your shit); Composure (bitches ain’t shit); Re-evaluation (question your beliefs every year to see if you still believe); Thunderstorms (they are awesome).

 

The second level is thus. 

Friends (three to five is sufficient); Zombie Avoidance (have a plan); Masonry (building walls makes you strong, defending them makes you stronger); Puns (always acceptable, but never draw attention by explaining or elaborating on them, unless it’s funnier that way); Hydration (water is for fighting, booze is for drinking, milk is for broken bones); Self-respect (it starts with you); Forgiveness (don’t foster meaningless grudges); Physical Fitness (keep yourself sound).

 

The third level is thus.

Intensity (never give half your ass to two things: give your whole ass to one thing as it comes); Pets (solid companions who will never ask you intrusive personal questions, and are good for fostering responsibility and a sense of compassion); Sleep (use it to rest and manage the Narcolepsy); Hygiene (no one wants to smell that); Stillness (you are the eye of the storm); Cow Milk (milk with a terrible smell and worse consequences, avoid it); Culture (know who you are and what you come from).

 

Level four. Cow meat; Pig meat; Bird Meat; Deer Meat; Fish Meat; Love. Level four’s the easiest level; almost none of us actually have a problem with this level. This is also where things start to get complicated, because this is where self-actualization starts.

 

Level five. Discipline (the ability to repeat a boring thing over and over again); Attire (stick with what works for your lifestyle and leave fashion out as much as possible); Self-Reliance (trust yourself); Group-Reliance (trust your crew); Cow Milk (That’s right. It’s here twice. **Avoid-** but in this case, because of the History behind the Fae's use of Cow's Milk).

 

Level six. Teamwork (your life depends on it); Selfishness (take what’s yours, but **only** what's yours); Haircuts (don’t let it get in your eyes); Greatness Itself (the best revenge).

 

Level seven. Weapons; Breakfast; Shamelessness. Level seven’s more complicated than level four, but it’s paradoxically easier to just... do. It doesn't need to be explained; and most of us, even Asher who doesn't Know much of anything, exist in level seven without much thought.

 

Level Eight. Satire (annoy the powerful with their own hypocrisy); Buffets (Whenever available, choose quantity over quality; if possible, choose both).

 

And the final level of the Portgas Pyramid of Greater Living: Honor. If you need it defined, you don’t have it.

 

I’ve worked out the definition of honor for Fae: Honor isn’t moral, the Law is moral. Honor is a matter of Duty; that’s why a faes’ Honor _is_ their job. You do your job because not only your life, but the lives of everyone around you depend on it; and you do it to the best of your ability because if you fail, people **_die._ **

Our morality is bound to the Seven Laws- an' it fall outside the Law, it be Fair to do.

 

 

 

So, Floria is the place where flower selling really began; there are paintings of bird-cloaked women and men, crouching near baskets of impossibly beautiful calla lily flowers. The painter is one of Floria’s favorite sons, [ Diego Rivera ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diego_Rivera) when Floria seceded, the flower sellers went with them. But the flower fields didn’t- so what to do with all that foliage that they’d so lovingly tended?

 

There are two things you need to know about being a florist. 

1: It makes no fucking sense to sketch out a bouquet before you make it. Every individual flower is different in a way that cannot really be adjusted the way other building materials can be adjusted, and each individual bouquet is unique. Just put the fucking flowers together.

2: No one- in months and months of working at the flower shop- has ever cared what the flower and color of the flower means. No one’s ever asked. It’s just not something people tend to care about outside of fiction and Nobility and it’s certainly not something most florists know. (I know, but I’m a junior florist so no one cares what I know.) You know what florists know? What looks good and is thematically appropriate.

 

The actual symbolism of flowers, as professional flower arrangers use it: yellow, for friends and hospitals; pink, for girls and girlfriends and babies and bridesmaids; red, for love; purple for queens and other royalty; white, for marriage and death and never ever to be sent to the hospital; pink and purple for your mama; red, orange, and yellow if your mama is stylish; red, yellow, and blue, for dudes and small children; blue and white, rare combo, probably for a wedding; red and white, love for fancy bitches.

 

Here’s what the flowers actually mean to a flower arranger, a flower seller.

The fill it out flowers: Carnations, fuck you these are meaningless filler-flowers, not even your admin assistant likes them, show some creative gumption for fucksake; alstroemeria, by and large very similar to carnations but I like them better; tea roses, cute and little and come several to a stalk, a classy filler flower; Moluccella laevis, filler flower but CHOICE AS FUCK, like leaves that decided they were flowers now and fuck you I like the z-axis; delphinium, not as interesting as molucella but purple so okay I guess; Blue Thistle, FUCK YEAH FUCK YEAH, some fucking textural variety at last! (You’re getting this for a dude, aren’t you?) Chrysanthemums, barely better than carnations but better is still better; gladiolus, ooooh, risky business, someone understands the use of the z-axis, very good.

The focal point flowers: long stem roses- yeah, whatever; lilies, LBD flower, looks good with everything, get used as often as possible; hydrangeas, thirsty fuckers, divas of the flower world and rightly so, treat them right and they make you look damn good; Gerbera daisies, the rose’s hippie cousin, hotter but no one admits it; Peonies, CHA-CHING, everybody's absolute favorite but you need guap like whoa and they are not shelf stable- they’re done in two days MAX; Orchids, if this bouquet isn’t for a wedding you’re trying too hard or you fucked it up _so much,_ but they’re expensive as shit so keep ordering them.

You know what matters to a flower seller the most? THE CUSTOMER’S BUDGET. THAT’S TELLING FOR HOW YOUR WORK DAY’S GONNA GO.

2000 beri, if you’re not under twelve fuck off, get your sugartit something else; 3000 beri, good for bouquets but an arrangement will be lame; 4000 beri, getting there, there’s something that can be done with that. You can get some gerbs or roses with that and not have them look stupidly solo.

5000 to 7000, tolerable, I mean, I **_guess._**

8000, fucking **_finally;_  **it may sound elitist but this really is the basic amount of money you should expect to spend on an arrangement that matters. That’s you’re mama’s birthday arrangement. You’re probably not going to spend 8000 beri on a bouquet.

9000 to 13000, that’s the good shit, you’re likely to get some orchids and probably laid while you’re at it.

13000+, for weddings and death and coronations. This amount of money gets you a memorial arrangement or a handmade bridal bouquet. Don’t spend this on a Mother’s Day or a Babe I Love You arrangement, buy them a massage or something.

Everything needs greenery and if you think it don’t then you’re an idiot.

 

As a new flower seller, when you start making arrangements, you can’t see the mistakes you’re making because you’re brand new and you’re learning an art form from the ground up. With few exceptions- I’m looking at you, Noble Romantic commissions- customers don’t have a clear plan in mind.

They want you to develop the bouquet for them.

They want something that will delight their little sugartit but you’ll be lucky if they know that person’s favorite color, let alone flower.

Flower shops don’t have every kind of flower in every kind of color. Customers generally aren’t assed about that. Most people don’t care about the precise shade of the rose or having daffodils in July, because they’re not boning up on flower language before they buy.

That would imply that they’ve got a clear bouquet in mind and, again, they mostly don’t.

Honestly, my job’s a lot like Yuki’s but I come home smelling nicer; I keep dead things looking good for as long as possible. I keep the product in cold storage so it doesn’t rot and look horrible by the time the family gets a whack at it, and in the meanwhile I put it in a nice container and get paid lots of money for my work.

So anyway, that’s being a florist.

 

I like it, I guess; I’d rather have a teashop, with lovely edible posies and baked goods, once I have a full set of fetishes though. It’d be nice to get paid for my calling in a systematic way.

[ This is me ](http://www.saleoilpaintings.com/paintings-image/victor-gabriel-gilbert/victor-gabriel-gilbert-the-flower-seller-83602.jpg), by the way; Sisko got a good one.

Cut flowers are a little weird, actually- because of their nature, that being heralds of new growth and also dying things, I can See them more clearly than I can See possibly anything else in the World. I don’t really need my securing-line-fetishes to work as a flower seller.

It’s- it’s not against the Law, exactly. What I do is neither moral or immoral, and neither legal or illegal- I just tell people as much Truth as they pay me to.

 

Anyway, my workmate, Nadia… technically she owns the shop I work at, but she hates it. Her heart is filled with the Sea-longing, same as Mab’s. I- hmm. Yeah. I’ll just ask her.

 

“Nadia?” I said.

“Yeah, Atty?” said Nadia.

“If you could be the Gardener for a rivage’s aerogarten, would you?” I said.

“Um- well, I mean. **Yes** but no one is going to hire a Syreene in this economy to be their Gardener when they could hire a Fairy or a Djinni or a Cherubim there are lots of Cherubim who get hired as Gardeners all the time and I’d really like to be a Gardener but- I mean this isn’t so bad. This is _**fine.”**_ said Nadia.

“Because you hate this, working here at a flower shop I mean to say. This shop could be something **so much better-** but… you hate it and want a reason to leave. So, you’re trying to give yourself no reason to stay; I get it. Here’s what I think you should do. I think you should take half my savings and sell me this place, and then I think you should come with me to my Family Band Practice. I can feel an opportunity for you, waiting. Also, there may be burgers.” I say.

“...You got a feeling or a Feeling?” said Nadia.

“Feeling, the second one.” I say.

“...I do like burgers. Is that your- you carry your savings around in a metal lunchbox, Atty? I mean it’s okay if you do but that’s not really- I can’t countenance selling this place for just half that box there’s no way it’s enough and I mean if you really want this place that’s fine but I do need something approaching a Fair price or a fair enough price-” said Nadia.

“No, I usually use a much larger box for my money, but this is good for carrying around. This whole thing is half my savings in large bills, so.” I say.

“Oh, of course, how silly of me. Well, I mean- you’ve never been wrong. Okay, let’s go.” said Nadia.

 

I smiled at Nadia, who smiled back.

At that moment, the sun pierced through the Old Florian Mist, and in the back garden Nadia was smiling for real for one of the few times I ever knew her. While she was in Faeland, I mean; living in Faeland? Words. How do they even.

Nadia’s a dyed in the wool Florian Alkonost, or she was raised as one- it only takes her about half an hour to pack up everything in the shop she wants to keep. Then it’s another half hour to go down the street to the notary, and she signs over the deed of the shop to me in exchange for the contents of my blue student lunchbox- the red one has the rest of my savings and is safe, not with me. Never _**you**_ mind where.

Nadia was even nice enough to help me move things in the shop around, changing it from a florist’s shop to a proto-teahouse. Except it’s not going to be a teahouse at all- now that I have an actual base to work with, I can start… Oh, I’m excited. I'll need a baker, and probably people to brew, books, furnishings, and all the other little things- a license, but that'll have to wait until Jackie returns, and permits, and So that’s what it feels like when you don’t know what’s going to happen next; I can see any future except my own, actually.

I have no idea if my plan to become a small business owner is actually going to work or if I'm going to fail miserably.

...Neat!

 

 

Nadia comes with me to Famband in a seagull and sea-owl feather cloak, leaves both her cloak and her duffle of Stuffs in the music room on the Moby when the moment comes through. And it’s a real humdinger, I honestly- wooo. We can all get information from Grace’s Web, of course, it’s just my antenna seem to tune in most often.

 

“HANGNAIL TOES, SHUDDERY SPINE, ITCHY HEAD! THE SCENT OF BURNING COW MEAT! ALL SHALL LOVE THEE AND DESPAIR! PAT AU CHOUX POT AU CHOUX TARTARTARTARTE- **UNCLE RAY-RAY’S MAKING MEATSIAHS AGAIN AND HE’S GONNA GET IT RIGHT THIS TIME IT’S A BIG BATCH WE NEED TO GO** **_RIGHT NOW!”_   **

That’s what I shouted at the end of a song I don’t even remember.

 

All my sisters (except Jackie) gasped with excitement; there was a great flurry of movement, and Mab pulled out an enormous stack of money, which confused Asher something fierce. Mab’s husband, Sanji, asked what a Meatsiah even is, and Mab explained it thus. (Without stopping her money count because Aunt Tiny don’t play that shit.)

 

“The Meatsiah is the most difficult burger currently known to the World, love. According to my Aunt Tiny, Uncle Ray-Ray has only managed to make it twice successfully before disaster strikes- be it running out of fuel for the grill, running out of meat, and the unsuccessful times can only be described as pure acts of God- locusts, hailstorms, floods, frogs, and once, six entirely separate packs of feral shark-dogs, blacktips for reference. That was a terrible day, and it led to bacon shortages across the city for weeks... -Oh, right, the Meatsiah is beef tartare inside a burger medium well inside a burger wellington. It should also be known that my Uncle Ray-Ray uses fresh ingredients and grinds his own beef, as a point of pride.” said Mab.

“...How the hell do you put a beef tartare inside a burger medium well inside a- is a burger wellington just a beef wellington but burger?” said Sanji.

“I don’t know, I’ve never had one or tried to make one; and I imagine so. The first one was made to see if he even could; the second was to propose to Aunt Tiny. He’s been trying to catch the lightning in a bottle again ever since. I’VE GOT ENOUGH PETTY CASH LET’S FUCKING GO TO AUNT TINY AND UNCLE RAY-RAY’S BURGER AND BAIT SHOP LET’S GO LET’S GO LET’S GO.” said Mab with intent to buy each of us at least one burger.

I have a good Oldest Sister.

 

And then we all gathered together with clasped hands. Marco ended up going with us too for some reason- he seems to be really enjoying Famband Shenanigans, and he’s usually there with everyone so…? And Felix usually ends up hanging out with Ace and Marco anyway, so. Aha. That's going to be interesting for Marco; although it's about time that pineapple man got to look after an  _actual_ child for a change, rather than grown ass adults who didn't bother growing up...

 

Blink and you’ll miss it, but the sound of the Train Station is unmistakable.

We walked out into the blazing sunlight of a [Skuan Early Spring Day](http://img11.deviantart.net/ae6c/i/2012/263/3/7/city_in_the_sky_by_lildormilon-d5f7xwl.jpg). Past clear lakes, beside drifting clouds the size of fanciful mountains; the smell of fresh wind and blooming flowers. Ice-frost still on the roofs; no trees coming into bud just yet, it's still too dim. But there are flowers, blooming on the banks of the lakes and streams, and the birds have returned.

It's spring again, and the World is waking up.

 

So anyway, as we all- Nadia included- were making our way to the Burger and Bait place what Aunt Tiny and Uncle Ray-Ray own and operate, the conversation turned from what to expect to what Blacklisting is.

I was the one who explained what it means to be Blacklisted to Asher. It’s predicated on- on some vague reasoning of what Skuan laws even are.

Tilly- Tigerlily- explained what the Seven Laws are.

I was the one who explained what she left out.

Someone had to, and I've got long practice at delivering Truth to people who don't want it, but need it anyway.

 

“What Tilly isn’t saying is something you already know- maybe you haven’t put it into words, but you’re Fae. You **_Know_**.

“The Law is Right; and breaking the Law is Wrong, and it is **_always_ ** Wrong; but sometimes, for the sake of the World, you must break the Law. You can break the Law as you like, of course- but take care, Ace Ariel. **If you do Wrong, you must be accepting of the fact that you may not be forgiven for it.**

“So- when you go into a restaurant that doesn't make you pay up at the door, the implied Word you’ve given is that once you’ve eaten your fill, you will pay money for the service you’ve been rendered. It’s an extension of the Promise of Money- the assurance that money can be exchanged for goods and services. You are not just a Portgas, Asher- you're a Morgan, too. Now that you  **Know** who you are, it behooves you to uphold the Honor of  ** _both_** of your Houses; Portgas Keeps the Harbor-road, Morgan Keeps the Wealth Exchanging.

"It is on the Name of Portgas that every merchant was Promised, should they make it into Safe Harbor with their wares, that they would have people who could and _would_ move their cargo from the ships in Harbor to the Market places,  ** _without being stolen from_**. Thus, it is the duty of every Portgas to keep the Road leading from Harbor to Market- wherever that road may lead, no matter how many twists or turnings, branches and leaves it may have- in good repair and safe to for use.

"This is why it is our Aunt Ravelle, whom we your sisters call Mom, is the undisputed Ruler of the Docks, though she is in truth a Weaponsmith and not much else. She is not the Ruler of the Docks because she wants to be, or even is particularly good at it; she Rules because the Docks follow her. As an aside, the reason Aunt Zippy is called "Inky" Tzipporah is because she does all the actual  _bureaucracy_  involved in the running and management of the Docks District of Fiddler's Green, which is really a small city-village in it's own right. Mom's involvement in running the Docks is making sure her people are happy, have what they need, and get what they asked for; Aunt Zippy does everything else.

"Consider this, Asher- have you ever gotten lost in a new Harbor? And I do mean ever- even when you first set sail, you understood perhaps instinctively the rhythm and flow of the Dock, no matter how slowly it moved or how small the harbor was. It's not just Docks, either- Wharfs, Piers, and Jetties- if it's in a Harbor, or near enough, you Know it like you know how to breathe. When Fae give their Oath to something, they gain Boons- generally to help them fulfil their Oath. One of the Portgas Boons, which is in the public record, is an instinctive understanding of the movement and function of a dock, with some individuals having a more thorough understanding of the dock's needs, and maintenance record.

"It's not just you, that does these things, Asher. Spadey does it too; and Mab; and Easy; and Yuki; and Jackie, though it pains her, now, to be so far from the Wilds as that; and me, though I am a feather-brain; and Gabbie; and Fee; and Sisko; and Del; and Tilly. Mom, too, though she mostly only cares about how it relates to her forge. You are not alone; it is not just you.

"Slavery is an entirely different issue; one of what, exactly, constitutes cargo, which changes from harbor to harbor; however, in every Skuan Harbor, slavery is Illegal, and slaves  _cannot_ be treated as cargo. So- if it ever comes down to it, you cannot, and should not, remove slaves from the slaver's ship as cargo; you cannot keep to the Promise of the Portgas, because _**people cannot be bought or sold.**_ Slavery is a Lie, Asher; and an awful one, at that.Thus, the 'slave' can be stolen, or "lost" on the way to Market, and this is Proper to do because Portgas, being a Noble House of Skua, must uphold the Laws of Skua to the Highest Standard as an Example to those below us.

"It is on the Name of Morgan that every person was Promised, that in lieu of gold or silver or gem or other precious thing, simple cloth-paper printed with ink and called 'Money' could be exchanged for goods and services,  ** _without their goods and services being cheated or stolen from them._** Thus, it is the duty of every Morgan to offer something of equal value for what they want or recieve, no matter what the price is; and to consider that which has no price nor equal value a precious Treasure, as it is. Love, Asher, cannot be bought; nor can Distinction. The Morgan Boons are many, but the two on public record are: The ability to discern with chilling accuracy the exact monetary value of a given good or service to within half a decimal place of the current market value of the aforementioned good or service. And; the ability to do  _very complicated mathematics_ completely in their head.

"Consider your accounting: you are the Commander of an entire Division, which more than likely spans multiple crews of people. You ultimate responsibility is to ensure that there are enough supplies for your demands, and that you do not go over budget in case you need more than what you have. After someone taught you how to do this- I'm going to assume Marco- you not only did not forget how to do it, you almost certainly improved how it was done.

"Mab is the one, out of all of us, who took this instinctive understanding of mathematics the farthest: she has doctorates in mathematics, quantum mechanics, statistics, and psychology; and master's degrees in structural engineering, Arts (which includes Liberal Studies, Special Education, and Teaching), design, Liberal Arts, Fine Arts, Military Arts and Sciences, philosophy, physics, astrophysics, chemistry, textiles, fabrics, ornamentation, and fashion trends. I'll only say this once, Asher- of us all, Mab is the smartest and the most willing to show it. Spadey can out strategize her, sometimes; I can surprise her. Gabbie is more stubborn; Easy is more relaxed, if driven in the same way, towards excellence; Yuki has the same thirst for education, but in a very different field; Jackie does not attend formal education anymore; Sisko actually matches her in physics, chemistry, and structural engineering; Fee has more medical degrees; Del has the same kind of potential, but she doesn't want anything like what Mab wants; and Tilly is a Lawyer. She's a baby Lawyer, sure, but she still went through Law School and passed the Bar with one of the highest final scores in the history of Skua; she's currently studying for her Bars in the rest of the World, because she doesn't get the cool badge unless she's a Lawyer anywhere in the World. Give her three months.

"Mab is still smarter than the rest of us. Mab is smarter than us because she got all of her doctorates not only at the same time, but in the seven years she was at boarding school- in addition to her masters degrees. It takes most people eight years and six weeks to earn a doctorate. Just **one** , Asher. Mab has **four**. She also-" I said.

"I also would have gotten a regular Medical Doctorate, but I couldn't handle the practicum hours- and honestly, like being a nurse. I should get re-registered, now that I'm in good standing... and I suppose I could go for a Doctorate in Fashion now, if I really wanted to. Probably will, after I've stopped actively campaigning; getting published is a pain in the ass without an address. I'd also have had a Master's in Divinity, if I wasn't a _terrible_ public speaker, singer, and performer of music. I am just  ** _awful-_**  either I don't know the words, don't know the tune, can't do both at the same time, or **_worse;_** and, considering the worship practices Worldwide, and how heavily the tests are weighted... I'll say this. They only kick you out of the class if you Fail, which is counted as an average of 0. I had a 0.06, and got my Masters in Philosophy out of it, which I was not going for but got anyway- and access to the Doctorates department- by being one of the only students in that class who managed to do original research in the Divinity library. Spadey's got a Master's in everything to do with Business, Finance, Industry, Labor, International studies, Political Science, and Commerce; Gabby's got Masters in Structural Engineering, Landscape Architecture, City Planning, Urban Planning, Country Development, and Culture; Del's a Master of Fine Arts and who knows what else; and though she might not have said it, Atty has far more philosophy and theoretical science degrees than I do." said Mab, embarrassing me thoroughly before flittering back to her husband.

 

"...how long does it take to get a Masters degree? -And what can you get one in, anyway?" said Asher, eyebrows high on his face.

"It takes most people four years to get a Masters, Asher. Mab, our sister, went for two per year, every year she was in school- **_and got them_** \- in seven years, in addition to a Nursing degree and four Doctorates- not counting the other ones she's qualified to test for. And became a Master Spear Fighter, among other things. As for Masters degrees, and what you can get one for- in two words? [Nearly everything](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_master%27s_degrees). Thinking of going for higher education?" I asked.

"Well, maybe." he said, shrugging. 

I hummed, before deciding to just- fuck it. No one would have told him- it's amazing, for a family full of such smart people, what we forget isn't common knowledge.

 

"I had heard that you got rather upset that Granuna and Danelphe persist in calling you "boy" or some other nickname that is not  _ **your**_ name. You seem to be laboring under the false thought that Our Ancient Ancestors do not care about you- they do care about you. They, in fact, love you. But if you want to be a Distinct person in their eyes, worthy of your own Name, you must  _earn_ that Distinction; by action, character, even by being tutored by them. They're Old, Asher; not old like your Pops, but Old like the mountains are Old. Danelphe was born about three calendar systems ago, about two hundred years before the Age of Discovery, _**we think.**_ Granuna was born just after Pandora took her Second Oath, during the Age of Gods and Demons.

"If you want to be remembered by our Ancient Ancestors, Asher, you have to do something worth their recognition. Mab has for both of them, which is a  ** _terrifying prospect to consider_** , for a number of reasons. Mab has learned martial arts from the Grim Reaper, and drawn blood from her in open combat, Asher; have you done the same? Mab learned how to fight with a weapon from the Keeper of Time's Gates, and disarmed her in battle; have you done that, too?

"You've scrapped with Granuna- she hits harder than a hangover, aye? That's just her playing around. Mab has faced our Granuna in open combat- the real kind, where you're actually trying to kill your opponent-enemy. The only reason our sister lived is that Granuna decided that removing such a powerful fighter from the World would make the World a lesser place, and so Mab's life was spared. Mab has only ever drawn blood from Granuna the once, Asher, and she insists it was a fluke- to which Granuna replies that luck is just as much a part of battle as skill. And thus is Mab remembered by the Grim Reaper.

"Pray you never scrap with Danelphe. She doesn't believe in coddling, and she doesn't believe in holding back for the sake of fun. If you think you're hard enough to scrap with Danelphe, then she thinks you're old enough to face the consequences. However, there is no one in the World that I know of who knows more about weapons and the handling of them- not anyone, Asher. Mab faced our Danelphe in open combat, too; but the rules for that battle were different. In Mab's battle with Granuna, the person who drew first blood would win. In the battle with Danelphe, the person who was disarmed would win. Mab struck Danelphe's sword from her hand, Asher.

"The reason Mab didn't get her gut slit open by Granuna is: she is too fast, and cut her enemy first.

"The reason Mab didn't get her arms cut off by Danelphe is: she is too fast, and struck the sword away before it could cut her." I say.

 

My sisters are very quiet; we're waiting for the ferry to come across the river.

Asher looks at everyone, and then at Mab, who nods quietly to him.

He looks back at me.

I continue.

 

"No person under the age of twenty, no matter how strong, can really hope to face any of the Oka Shichibukai in serious open combat without extensive training- and even with all the training Mab underwent, there was a very real chance that her victory over Mother Morgan would have come at the cost of her own life.

"Ace Ariel, Harriet "Nightmare" Morgan was a Shichibukai for thirty years, and the Queen Royal of Skua. The Bluebeaks gave the title of Shichibukai to anyone they wanted to control- including Morgan. On her, it didn't work- chiefly because they did not take the time to understand exactly what they were bringing into their house. One does not simply  ** _inherit_** any of the Royal titles of Skua; that's not how our Royalty works." I say, leaning back on the railing of the ferry.

Asher is staring at me, wide eyed.

"As I recall, for those first ten years she was a Shichibukai, Morgan was the Night Terror of the Sea; Kuma was called the Tyrant before he became a Shichibukai. Morgan didn't have an Epithet until _after_ she was a Shichibukai. And of all the individual people I've ever met, Morgan was one of the only people who could have straight taken Pops in a fight, won, and then laughed it off and been friends again. Really, an astonishing person." said Marco, musingly.

Asher squeaked.

 

"Asher, they remember _Mab_ as **_Mab_ ** because _**Mab earned their recognition.**_  So did Morgan. They don't remember _you_ because **you have not."** I say.

 

We're quiet for a while; a school of skeels gambols through the cloudy waves.

 

Eventually, I continue, because even the bitterest medicine is still medicine. The sibling who would tell him sugar-sweet nothings is not me.

 

"The Truth does not exist for your comfort, nor your satisfaction- if you want to be remembered, Ace Ariel, do something memorable. You, yourself, as a man, are enough, exactly as you are- it is enough for you to be alive, and with us, who love you. And if you want more than just that, you will have to work for it. If you truly want to be recognized, by your individual Name, by the Grim Reaper and the Gatekeeper, you need only ask for their tutelage- or challenge them to a fight.

"They aren't nice, like your Pops, Ace. If you challenge them before you're ready, they'll just kill you and be done with it. They're our Granny and our Dana, and they love us dearly- and they are the Grim Reaper and the Gatekeeper, and have a Duty.

"Now, returning to the Promise of Morgan: Gambling and other games of chance are not under the purview of either a good or a service; they are simple games, where the token, in this case, is merely a token more often used in exchange for goods and services. It is also not- I say again,  _ **not-**_ Wrong to steal Money. Money is a Lie, Asher; it doesn't have any intrinsic value in and of itself, and it cannot be exchanged for goods and services unless _**both**_ the parties exchanging aforementioned things agree to the Lie's value. Money is just a token; it's not really Real except for that so many say it is. -It is very hard, Asher, to carry around a sack of gold for your daily life; hard, and heavy. A bank-card is much simpler, and you can carry far more than one, if you need to. It is, however, Wrong to steal worked metals, worked stones, and other such things; it's one thing to take a simple diamond, fresh from the Earth- it is merely a rock. But to take the diamond that an artist has worked hard to shape, to make beautiful- has worked and suffered and worked again to turn a simple rock into a glimmering piece of Art- and yes, Asher, every gemstone and jewel is a piece of Art, someone's hands cut that rock into the most beautiful shape they could- to steal that  _is_ Wrong. 

"Stealing is Wrong because it is Wrong, Asher- I am sorry it took so long for you to learn this." I say.

 

We're closer to the Burger Joint, now- just a bit more walking to do. Last little thing to say, and then on to more cheerful tidings.

 

"Asher, you are not, and never have been, a single man, alone; you know now that you bear not only your own Honor, but the Honor of every person who shares your Names. You need not feel guilt for actions past; you didn’t Know better. But now, you _ **do**  _Know better, so... please take care with your future actions.

"Ace Ariel, my brother: **Do not shame us so again."** I say, and my voice makes Asher's spine snap straight and his eyes blink wide wide wide, as I stare up at him.

 

Not everyone can say what needs to be said; I have no shame and no pity, and so I can. No matter how much someone doesn't like it.

 

"...There’s also some debate over what constitutes Theft Absolute, which is what everyone agrees is the actual Wrong, but you’ll have to talk to Tilly about that, I’m not terribly informed on the issue. Also, Nadia-” I said.

“Chairete!” chirped Nadia, cheerful and only seemingly oblivious.

“-is your Gardener. You’ll need to find more like-minded people for her to wrangle, of course- she ought to have some ideas about where to get them, even- but she’s definitely the person for the job. Also also, we’re going to meet your Cook and your Navigator at the Burger Joint, with an outside chance of picking up your Musician as well, I’m not so good at Seeing the clerical folks. -I’m telling you this now so that you’re not surprised by how much you like them.” I said.

“Uh- right, right, Foresight. You’ve never seen wrong, aye? No, you've never been Wrong; not now, not ever. -And since when is Miss Nadia a Whitebeard?” said Ace.

“I have not, Asher. I wouldn't go as far as that, though- there's only so many of us who can lift Gabbie's Hammer, and I'm not one of them...” I said, blushing.

“Oh, I asked Marco and Marco took me to your Pops and he said that it was fine and I’m in the Second Division now I guess but really I’m here for Wild Card Bend’s aerogarten because it’s **_always_ ** been my dream to tend one of those and most of the established trading ships and so on won’t take me on they think I’m fluffy; I’m **_not_ ** fluffy; but anyway, yeah it’s really going to be fun, I’m very excited.” chattered Nadia. She’s had too much sugar.

Ace blinked, surprised at her intensely cheerful change of subject. I nodded solemnly.

 

“Also she’s good at planning things- parties, weddings, funerals, birthdays, first blessings, anniversaries, heists, gala functions, coronations-” I said.

“Wait, say that again.” said Ace.

“Coronations?” I said.

“No, a bit before that.” said Ace.

“First blessings?” I said.

“After that.” said Ace.

“Heists?” I said.

“Yeah. That.” said Ace

“Oh! Well of course I can plan a heist as well as anything else, I mean managing six different feuds is way more difficult so why a heist should be any harder than that I’ve no idea. I might have had too much sugar today.” chattered Nadia.

“Eat a burger when we get there, okay Nadia?” I said.

“I mean if Parsnip’s there I don’t see why I wouldn’t he’s an excellent cook and do you think he’s finished his apprenticeship by now? He should have, he ought to be done- I think he was just waiting around to make sure Mr. Ray would have a successor that wasn’t him before running off for the Sea- oh wow I’m really hungry that’s it that’s the place right?” chatters Nadia.

“I Feel he’s been waiting for an opportunity to sign on with someone honorable, actually. Ace, you should ask him to be your ship’s cook. Division cook?” I say.

“Division cook. He any good?” says Marco.

“Parsnip Parboil is **not** the Best in Skua- that’s either Missus Lavender, or Missus Rose; and they’re the Swan Queen and the Dead Queen’s head chefs respectively. Parsnip Parboil _is_ good- he’s good enough for the job of a Division Cook. Royal Chefs need to be able to work… basically as Captains in their own right; he’s not there yet, and he might not ever be. It’s not everyone who gets called to serve as such, or should.

“However, he has been feeding Portgas’ his entire life- his father was your Mother, Rouge’s, cook when she was campaigning; and he himself was fostered in Tiffanyan’s kitchens, which is the House Portgas proper. He can, without a doubt, handle an entire crew plus Ace- so long as he’s got undercooks to boss around and a steady supply of foodstuffs, of course.

“He’s really at his best when he’s got someone who synchronizes the local Garden, Orchard, or Farm with his cooking efforts. As an apprentice to Mr. Ray, he was mostly learning various recipes and how a working kitchen is **_run,_ ** not so much the actual practical cooking, although he must have picked up tricks and practices. Recipes too, depending on what kind of Apprenticeship he has with Mr. Ray.

“As for **_why_ ** I know this: the Kitchen necessarily creates the Garden- if you’re a Cook, you work closely with the Gardener- which I am- and the menu, sometimes a month or a season in advance, is predicated on the Garden’s requirements and growth patterns. Further, the Garden’s efforts are necessitated by the Cook and the Doctor, as most things that can be grown as food are also good for medicine- indeed, at a certain point, they become the same thing. And of course the Garden’s size has to be balanced on the ship’s carrying-weight, Job, destination, and the Captain’s whims- it’s a complicated balancing act, keeping any Skuan boat meant for long distance travel in proper working order.

“I do not envy you your future tasks, Commander Ace, I have to say.

“I know this because I was also fostered in Tiffanyan- but I was the daughter of one of Missus Ravelle’s favorite ropemakers, I have no idea why I’m a gardner when the rest of my family’s all ropemakers. It’s a Mystery. I know Parsnip- I have since we were children. He’s a solid, dependable guy, and hopefully his beard isn’t so patchy, now...

“Anyway, Parsnip Parboil’s got all the experience someone needs to be the Head Cook on a skyship, especially a rivage-class; which, as I undertand, your ship, Commander, Wild Card Bend, is.” says Nadia.

She’s not bouncing anymore, but she is skipping. She’s more like I always knew she was; almost obnoxiously cheerful, and very informed about everyone and everything. Wait for it- and there it is.

Marco’s stomach just growled a little bit, as did Ace’s. Nadia’s reached into her bag, bouncing backwards in front of the two men.

Skuan streets are rowdy and extensively dangerous, even in the smaller towns like this one, what with the roaming hog-fish and the occasional giant skeel; so it’s a rare treat to see someone as ‘scattered’ as Nadia is hop-skipping over tree roots, ducking under sideways ladders, sidestepping people, animals, and large chunks of cloud- takes her hand out of her bag and backwards-vaults over a bench one two three flips back onto her feet and reaches back into her bag and pulls out- YES ASSORTMENT OF TASTY SNACKS YES! I make a ‘tasty food hunger’ noise, it’s a bit like a smooch sort of but more slurpy? And she throws a bag of kettle corn my way.

Om nom nom nom.

 

“So I’ve got two kinds of popcorn and some squidberry muffins and I think a sugar cookie left which do you want it’s gonna be a while ‘till we’re at the shop it’s way farther than you think. Ace?” says Nadia.

She’s still walking backwards, but she’s looking at Ace right now with a sort of stern sort of curious expression. There she is, that’s the real Nadia.

 

“What are the popcorn choices?” says Ace.

“Kettlecorn and Lightly Garlicky.” says Nadia.

“Garlic.” says Ace.

“Yup-yup.” says Nadia before throwing the popcorn at Ace’s face. Ace face ace face ace face. He catches it and starts munching on the popcorn.

 

Marco smirks and says “I’ll take a muffin.”

“Oky-doky!” says Nadia before underhanding the muffin to Marco, who looks at her a bit oddly.

 

“It’s nothing to do with your catching prowess, it’s to do with the composition of the muffin. It’s a soft bread, you can’t throw around soft breads like you can bags of popcorn- watch your left, those aren’t leaves- and there’s nothing worse than trying to catch a muffin and having it break in your hands. That’s just disheartening is what it is.” and then Nadia flips back onto her feet because she was just walking on her hands for a bit. She’s still walking backwards, she- yeah, she’s going to just do that for the rest of the way there.

Ah, I hadn’t noticed- she’s wearing [ her actual clothing](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1eI7tS4s_Bg/TKLDD8t2sgI/AAAAAAAAfg4/b6fgBO3GQTs/s640/g.jpg), not her boring work uniform. She can really do everything she did as a florist in her normal clothing; gardening, too. Or Fighting. Or anything.

She just really hated her old job.

Ace is smiling at her, and engaging in conversation, now. I’m not like Mab or Spadey or even Del- I’m not even slightly subtle about getting my sisters or, in this case, brother, friends he can rely upon.

Thankfully, I’ve been cultivating a reputation for honesty since I was six for just such occasions when in fact, dishonesty is required.

You gotta plan ahead for these kinds of things.

It does mean I can't lift and carry Gabbie's hammer as easily as she does; proper Skuan weapons have  _requirements_ to them, and I don't quite fit the mold.

My reliable reputation came on it’s own; mostly because I’m actually reliable, but also by word of mouth.

 

 

Anyway, we get all the way to the Burger and Bait Shop before Nadia has to turn back around. Doors aren’t really built for people walking backwards. Inside the [ diner](https://beautifulbuildings.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/bobs-interior.jpg) it’s all booths and chairs that are bolted to the tables. Mab stops up at the register and has a conversation with- Wavey Rancheros! I didn’t realize he was working the register this week; serendipitous!

Wavey is an Alligator Gar type fishman. He has green skin, splotches like brown-purple liverspots but that’s just his skin, he’s actually Ace’s age. Mouth full of teeth, but of the [ less is more variety](https://gyazo.com/1c25da56d9b945376b022fa960c96309). Catchphrase greeting is “What it do, everybody?”

His family herds… tuna, I think? Yeah, they’re tuna ranchers- hence, Rancheros.

He’s also the best navigator I’ve ever met.

He’s **_also_ ** also been living under the Death card for as long as I’ve known him. (Shorthand is as follows: Death is Transformation; the Tower is Murder. And those are very different, indeed.)

 

So anyway, Mab paid for everyone to get one Meatsiah each, and I ended up at a sixtop with Nadia, Ace, Marco, Wavy, and- [ Parsnip Parboil](http://www.menshairstyletrends.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/lasselom-loose-man-bun-and-beard-e1491421985604.jpg)! With a truly excellent beard, goddamn.

 

Portents and omens coming together all crazy and shit!

 

 

BURGER BURGER BURGER BURGER BURGER- 

 

So I’m halfway through my burger when I guess Wavy realizes he’s a bit more interested in his future than most people would be? He set down a small stack of dola in front of me, which I counted, then nodded once because he’s good at remembering prices. So- mild spectacle, he didn’t pay for a real show. Okay, I can do that.

Probably without giving myself a migraine, even- and not what Mab calls migraines, mine are... not that. If I could weaponize them, and had a partner, they'd be very useful as a battlefield tactic. I can't; and, barring a few people I can think of, me having a partner would be way too dangerous. For them, I mean.

[My migraines are not fun.](https://youtu.be/NBGioJ3vxP0)

Del's very good at shooting me with the neccessary sedatives, if it comes to that. Usually, I can feel them coming. There's a fifty fifty chance I'm going to get one today.

Flip a coin, babe. Tails, we're good.

Mind your heads.

 

“So you want cards, coins, tea leaves?” I said.

“Cards, Miss Atty.” rasped Wavy.

“Okay. You’ve enough for a full reading, here. Focus on the question you have, please. Oh, and flip a coin- tails, we're good. Mind your heads.” I said.

“Yes, miss.” said Wavy, flipping a coin and then smacking his hand over top.

Future knowledge is  _dangerous_ , after all.

 

“Cut the deck.” I said.

And then I dealt his Hand.

 

The cards read thus: the heart of the matter was Temperance Reversed; the conscious position was Two of Wands; the unconscious position was Ace of Swords Reversed; the past was Nine of Pentacles; the future was Ace of Cups Reversed; the challenge was The High Priestess Reversed. The querent: Ten of Swords; the environment: Page of Swords; the hopes and fears: Ten of Pentacles; the outcome: Five of Swords.

 

When synthesized into a coherent thought process, the cards read thus:

 

‘The main issue is a lack of balance; consciously, you have transformed your vision and ambition into planning and progression; unconsciously, you are missing critical information that would help make a clear decision towards your goal possible; in the past, you have had bountiful returns, wondrous pleasures, and for a time they were fulfilling; in the future lies the waste of a wonderful bounty, the blocking of a magnificent opportunity; the challenge is that you aren’t hearing yourself- you’ve lost your center, you’re not attending to all your emotions. The querent feels they are a victim of circumstance, that disaster comes swift and unavoidable; the environment is one of new ideas, new adventures, a world of enthusiasm and good cheer; your hopes and fears are thus: you have nothing much to show for your efforts, and where should have been greatness, only dust is to be found. As for the outcome, you will achieve victory, but at a subtle cost- the price of getting what you wanted is getting what once you wanted.’

 

(My snake-companion, Dalia, pokes her head out of my apron pocket, her warmin’ sock (which Mab made for her!) going with her as she makes her way from my chest down onto the table. She’s a fussy little string of scales, and she likes her sock to be just so. She’s still pretty young, so her body mostly fits into the sock. I pull out a small cage, and give her her feedin’ time mouse, keeping a careful eye on her progress- and there she goes, the mouse didn’t stand a chance.

And her warmin’ sock really is beautiful; like a sunset in a tube of fabric.)

 

What I said to Wavy Rancheros is thus.

 

“Wavy Rancheros, you’ve spent your life becoming more and more inured to the wonders and pleasures of Sky Blue, the upside-down Star Sea. Is it any wonder, then, that when faced with the realization that you are fundamentally unhappy, you would rather turn your away and hide?

“But if you do such, if you ignore what you want, you face a lifetime of having missed the chance you so desperately wanted, the chance to do something different with yourself.

“You feel as if going for what you want will get you stabbed in the back, will lead to an inevitable betrayal; your environment is one of something entirely new.

“You hope and you fear that what you have done, what you have been before doesn’t matter much at all- the glory you have received will turn to ashes in your grasp. This, you fear. This, you hope.

“Finally- if you do achieve what you think you want; if you get exactly what you want, you will have gotten exactly what you wanted. -Eat your burger and think on what I have said; I will answer one question of yours, an’ the rest of the answers ye’ll seek on your own.” I said.

Wavey pulled his hand away from the coin: Tails. We're good.

 

And then I ate some more of the best burger I’d ever had in my life. So good. So meat. Ace’s sneaking hand got covered in clingy python, so he didn’t get to steal anyone’s food. Which. The habits of a lifetime can be hard to break, but I’m a good sister so I’ll help him as best I can.

Dalia curled up on his sneak-thieving arm and nestled her pudgy body all over his fingers, wrapped around his palm and cuddled up to his thumb with her headboobs. Good Dalia. Best Snake. She’s a chubby cuddly python-snake and I love her very much.

 

 

Wavy Rancheros asked me only thus.

 

“If becoming a Salvager isn’t the right path for me, what else is there? I can’t be a merchant, and I won’t be a fisherman, and I- can’t. I can’t go back- to where I grew up. What else is there, Miss Atty?” said Wavy.

“You should be my brother’s Navigator- not Spadille, Ace. Him.” I said, hooking my thumb at my brother. I also gave him the rest of my burger because I really only wanted half of it.

Ace blinked, and then went to eat my burger. Marco hummed from my other side.

 

“More importantly, I have a quest for the lot of you- even you, Mister Marco. Give Dalia back, Ace, and I’ll tell you the particulars.” I said.

“Um. Okay.” said Ace, shoving the rest of the burger into his mouth so he’d have a hand free.

 

I took Dalia back and flipped a coin high, Tails we're good, mind your heads; then I don’t remember what exactly I said, only that when I looked around again the shop was very very quiet and then everything that wasn’t bolted to the ground clonked back into place. Yep. Real prophecy, no question about it.

Aunt Tiny brought over a carafe of cold water and gave me a glass of ice.

I poured myself a glass of coldest cold water, drank it down, and the taste of blood receded from my mouth.

I pulled my hand away from the coin: Tails. We're good.

 

Ace blinked, staring straight ahead, before the blood rushed back into his skin and he wheezed and- hmm. He didn’t realize I’m the real deal, Charisma or no; nor did he understand the fact that there are things written in Fae blood that make things like Prophecy have **_weight_ ** for the Fae.

We can’t just ignore it, it’s- it’s like not feeling the rumble of the Vearth when it shakes. We can’t just not feel.

 

“Did I tell you the thing with the Lion and Leviathan?” I said.

“Yes.” said Ace.

“Ah. And… the swords?” I said.

“Yeah, that too. I guess you’ve been seeing those- portents and omens- for a while, Atty?” said Ace.

“Yeah. Um- for your musician, the only person I can think of is Easeelie- which is not me Seeing anything, it’s just a thought and not a good one. Felix has a correspondence with her, unfortunately; she also corresponds with Doctor Daesung, which is much better; they’re both up in the Clover Meadow. You’ll need to have Felix introduce you to one of them, and I can’t tell which one, that future’s spinning like a coin in the air before it Falls. As for your sewing professional… I don’t know, actually. I’ve got no idea of who you should talk to- but Mab might. So, I guess talk to Mab? Maybe Del, though not just yet; not just yet.” I said.

“Sure. You- you have no idea about what’s been going on in my life, right?” said Ace.

“Nope, and don’t bother telling me, I don’t care either way- I mean, I care about **_you,_ ** but… I don’t really care about the confluence of events that brought all of us here, together, **_now,_ ** I mean to say. It already happened; keep moving forwards. Um… Oh, you should call your Pops so he knows not to worry about you. He will, of course, you’re his son, but you should make the attempt to reassure him.” I said.

“...I’m not sure I know the number, actually.” said Ace.

“Marco does.” I said.

“Right, right. Hey, Marco-?” said Ace

“I’ll go with you, I need to talk to Pops too.” said Marco.

 

And they- Marco and Ace I mean- eeled out of the booth to go and call Popop Whitestache. Ace’s new crewmates- Wavy Rancheros and Parsnip Parboil- went with them.

 

It was about that time that Diborane, my baby cousin, sat down across from me. Her mink was extra fluffy, meaning she had a burning question for me, more than the usual. I held out my open hand, and she gave me my usual commission- look, I don’t care if we’re family, I’m not opening myself up to the cosmic Mist for free.

It's not just dangerous to me, after all.

After flipping her coin, Dib [asked her question](https://youtu.be/zUTQMZkwQSM).

 

“How do people change?” said [ Dib](http://orig09.deviantart.net/169c/f/2016/104/a/a/one_piece_oc__puff_by_budokaihyuga-d9yyq7a.png).

 

Dib’s really cute- with her long neck and her curly red hair and her big, gooey eyes. You could almost be forgiven for wanting to give her a cuddle. Of course, she will absolutely wreck your shit if you tried to cuddle her, but she just looks so inviting- it’s hard to resist, but you do it because she really doesn’t like being randomly hugged. Dib is not a hugger.

Now, I already know the answer to Dib’s question. I’ve known for years, ever since Mom and Aunt Zippy had to help Mab Hunt Titania; but she wants me to put it into words. But, as she’s paid me for a bit of spectacle, I must oblige her.

In my purse, not the case with my crystal ball, but my actual purse, there is a packet of aromatherapy vaporizers. My aromatherapy scent blend is called Vibrancy, which I actually use nearly everyday- it’s ginger, lemon, and spearmint. I take out one of the vaporizers, clip it into the fashion necklace and put the [ necklace around my neck ](https://gyazo.com/ae45284acbc88f5d1063a866d57e0a02) . Then I set up the crystal ball on the back of a female bone lion, and draw in a long sweet breath. I exhale through my nose, and white vapor occludes the [ massive pink stone ](http://www.rikoo.com/ProductImage/2300235/Rose-Quartz-Crystal-Ball-01.jpg) Dory got for me.

 

And then I say what Dib doesn’t want to hear; it’s the only answer I’ve got, but the Truth is never what anyone wants to hear.

 

“Your answer has something to do with Her Grace, so it’s not very nice at all. Change is when She splits the skin with a jagged thumbnail from throat to belly, then plunges a huge filthy hand in. She grabs hold of your bloody tubes and they slip and wriggle to evade her grasp but She squeezes hard, She insists, then She pulls and pulls until all your innards are yanked out- and the pain! We can’t speak of that, but you know it. And then She stuffs them back; dirty, tangled, torn. Broken. It’s up to you to do the stitching. -And yes, it has to be you what does the stitching, because only you can see the split. And then up you get. And walk around, just mangled guts pretending to be whole again. That’s how people change; and if they cannot change, they die. -Dib, you’ll find in the fullness of time that what you love will take you places you never dreamed you’d go.” I said, staring at the misty center of the soft pink stone.

I blew out another long drag of clean white vapor, calm and cold as stone.

Dib’s grinding her teeth in fury. That’s not what she wanted to hear. It’s not a happy thing I told her, considering she doesn’t necessarily want to be a fry cook at a burger shop- but she doesn’t not want that either. She doesn’t want to wander through, a’venturing, and she doesn’t want to stay.

Won’t do one thing, won’t do another- so she has to take a third road, through wild places unknown to her entirely. So, she has to change. Change or die, as the saying goes. It’s never not painful- changing, I mean. The shop is very quiet after my pronouncement, which is probably why what happened next happened at all.

She lifted her hand to check the coin: Tails. We're good. 

 

No more questions today.

 

“Bitch, give me back my money.” said Dib.

“Bitch, I’m a Stuntwoman; I get paid for the attempt. You will **_never_ ** get your fucking money back.” I said.

 **“Both of you know better than to swear in my shop.”** said Uncle Ray-Ray.

 

And that’s why Mab has that picture of me and Diborane with a bar of soap in our mouths, standing along the back wall of Uncle Ray-Ray’s Burger Shop.

 

That’s what it’s like, being me- I mean, there’s the day to day stuff of running a niche mage’s shop and hangout, and there’s stuff about hiring Dib as my baker so I can utilize the location as a cafe, but… That’s really not all that interesting, I think. Nor is the stuff about only being able to do three Readings per day, which a Prophecy counts as, since I don't have my license or a properly tuned fetish set yet. Not interesting.

 

* * *

 

So, about Prophecy. It doesn’t matter if you believe them or not; one way or another, they always come true. Atty didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know, on the way to and at the Burger Joint; and it’s not like I wasn’t doing all that anyway.

It’s a little weird for me to feel so comfortable with people I’ve only just met more or less, but… it’s not _bad._ I have good instincts, Dana says; I just have to listen to them.

 

Instinct says: Listen to Atty and trust your brother Marco and get to know your new friends, Ace.

 

Says: Stop stealing food, Ace.

Says: You are loved, Ace.

Says: Respect is Earned, Ace; Love is Given.

Says: Go talk to Felix before she gets distracted by the pangolin, or you'll never get a straight answer out of her.

 

Wait, what-?


	13. 08:00; An Educated Man

[ And after the young man built his hut ](https://youtu.be/qEUGOyjewD4) , he drug a stone to that clearing and made a pit for the fire he would set. 

He had two weeks grace, before his education proper would begin; and in the first week’s time he built his hut. He found good things of the earth and the water to eat. He found berry bushes and bird’s nests, though he disturbed neither as it was too early in the year for such. He found thicker grasses and heavier leaves, and made the pallet where he would sleep a soft and welcoming thing, knowing he would not have time to hunt for meat and eat it in what time he had left and make a fur of it’s skin.

 

One night in the second week, after he set the fire in it’s pit, his teacher, an old man, found him. With the coming of the dawn, the young man’s pre-examinations began, and it was only two days later, when the old man bade him rest, that the young man discovered his duffle, laid next to his sleeping pallet.

 

This pattern continued again, until one morning on his day of rest he beheld his beloved friend, a fairy woman named Mab.

 

Mab looked over him, and his bruises, and his camp, and she smiled. She used her strange powers, and divided herself into seven. Some of her went to gather pipes of bamboo, and others went to gather wide flat grasses, and still more began tamping and flattening the area around his hut; and so it came to pass that outside the hut he had made for himself there was a small fencing, and in that fencing was the fire pit, and the young man’s hut, and in his hut there were fresh mats of woven grasses and a bed of sewn skins stuffed with feathers and his little hut had mud walls and a firepit and a hearth and a stack of wood for the burning and a basket for the mail and a flat board and a pen and ink and paper kept in it’s own box and lamps and a pillow and a blanket and other comforting things. Behind his hut there was growing a garden of good roots and herbs, and Mab the fairy taught him of their cultivation for the young man did not know such. Mab the fairy then took the young man into the forest and taught him of herbs and minerals, animals and spirits, as her ancient teacher, kin to the stars, had taught her long ago. Into the young man, quite without his knowledge, she poured the knowing of the good verdant earth, and all the good things that could be found within it, and all the dangerous creatures that may yet roam upon it- not enough for him to fear them, but enough for him to merely know them when he came upon them.

 

She also left him a stack of novels he had not read before- more of his beloved romance, but also bildungsromans, and other stories too; Folktales and myths and legends and things, and books with beautiful pictures. Poetry. Science. Mathematics, even, though only the man himself knows if he read that one or not.

 

The man and the fairy woman wandered the woods and gathered many good things, and when they returned it was to the young man’s hut and a fine dinner which the fairy had cooked for him. He lit the fire again, and Mab sat with him, and listened to him chatter without speaking, and when the time came for her leaving, Luffy was made better for her presence.

 

(When Luffy’s teacher, Old Ray, came to him on the morning, he smiled- for he knew the signs of a fairy’s regard better than anyone. And though it was a sad, autumnal smile, it was a true smile, nonetheless.)

 

* * *

 

Different fire, more people. Different stars, more time. Same little house with the little yard and the garden behind the hut has more than just root vegetables in it now, there are sweet smelling flowers and a stone bowl full of rosemary. The smell of roasting fruit and roasting meat with rosemary. The smell of night blooming flowers, parsley, sage, thyme. The calling of birds. Three firesitters are coated in brightly colored powders. The old man is still wearing pants, but the other two are buck naked.

 

“Neh, Mab?”

“Luffy?”

“I thought Beltane was all about dancing?”

“Um. Well, when you’re just a kid, sure. When you’ve grown, it’s more about fertility, really.”

“Is that why those naked women tore all our clothes off?”

“Naw, those were maenads, they’re just like that.”

“With the drinking and the smoking and the dancing and- all of that? Really?”

“They’re also known to tear people apart and eat their flesh, tear full grown trees out of the Vearth, and occasionally throw wild dance parties. We were very lucky to get away with just a loss of clothes, and there’s a reason I made us leave after sundown.”

“Do things always get extra awful and dangerous at night in Faeland, or is it just bad luck?”

“No, it’s- Seelie and Unseelie. The day is the bright sharp edge of the sword, like Ace; the night is the sword’s black spine, like Sabo. You need both for a good blade, of course; and you must never forget that both parts are of a sword.”

“What about that sparkly line down the blade’s sides?”

“The nioi? That’s people like you, Captain- people of uncommon quality, that have the power most commonly known to change fate; but you don’t have to have Conqueror's Haki to do it. My mother was like that too, and she didn’t… I suppose I might be like that, though I don’t, and my first instinct is to be Unseelie.”

“Hmm… and the colored powders at the festival?”

“Blessings for the growing season to come. Those little cats sure do like blessing people; thank you for not hurting them.”

“Oh. That’s nice of them! Thanks for warning me they were more plant than animal.”

“Mhm. Also, the pollen’s going to stain your skin in the various colors for about a month so.”

“Wait, what?”

“Okayloveyoubye!”

“MAB!”

 

And the old man laughed and laughed as the fairy woman vanished into the shadows of the night cackling and the young man fumed.

 

* * *

 

There’s a fire with a heavy stone by it and in the fire there’s a wide flat stone and there’s a woman sitting next to a young man and next to the young man is an old man. The woman is playing a pipa, but the music has no real meaning- just mumbling. There was food, but they ate it. The woman set a covered dish onto the stone; the smell of steadily sweetening fruits and berries slowly starts to fill the air.

 

“Neh, Mab.”

“Luffy?”

“What was Morgan like? I mean- I know why you killed her, but… what was she like? You call her mother and all...”

“Ah. Morgan was… demandingly critical. She wanted it done exactly to her specifications- and it didn’t matter what- and if it wasn’t right, she’d make you do it again, and she wanted it done when she said it ought to have been. For me, at least, it was never quite right or on-time, so I was always doing things again or getting shit for not being on her schedule. She was also very… sweet is not quite the word. Warm. Morgan was very warm, even though you could hardly see it in her face. She was warm, she was always warm- warm to the touch, even; she gave some of the very best hugs. Charming- when she was more or less in her right mind, Morgan could convince anyone to do anything. And- once she had promised to do something, she’d do it and that was that.”

 

“...” says the old man, his shoulders hunched with pain.

 

“So… she wasn’t always bad. I mean, she loved Rouge, right?”

“Yeah. And when Rouge told her that she loved Roger… Mother wasn’t exactly okay with that, but she’d already promised Rouge that she’d help her be happy with whatever she chose, and Rouge chose Roger. And then… Roger asked her to protect Rouge, and she did.”

“He didn’t say how, though.”

“No. He didn’t.”

“And- you don’t hate her?”

“Not anymore. Mostly, I just pity her; I’m baffled by a lot of the choices she made, and I’m very sad for how her life went. As far as I can tell, based on pictures and written accounts and so on, the best part of her life ended about a year before I was born, maybe two.”

“Mm. -neh, can you teach me how to do that thing you do with your fingers? That claw thing?”

“Hm. I mean, I could, but… is that really your style?”

“Might be. Won’t know until I try it.”

“Mhm. Alright, sure.”

 

And so Luffy was educated in the business of being a man; he learned to entertain himself, and to entertain others, and to entertain new ideas, too. (He also wrote a letter to his mother, and had his friend Mab hand-deliver it to her. Somewhere, there is a hideout of mountain bandits; somewhere in that hideout, there is an extensive scrapbook with baby pictures of Luffy, Sabo, and Ace. Mab may or may not have asked to make a copy of the journal-scrapbook; she might also have introduced Sooty Ravelle to Curly Dadan. There’s a lot of things Mab might have done but you can’t prove nothin’ Luffy-Captain! Hmhmhmhmhmhmhm!)


	14. 17:00; Hark! A Wolf Comes! In her Mouth Lay Fish, Upon a Bloody Thread.

[ There are fish ](https://youtu.be/LUaHQeutCv0) in the World called Gemfish, and they are so called because in their gullet lay gems of a special clarity and size; most often suitable for use by those gift-cursed with the First and Second Sights. My sister, Attwell is one such person. When we were very young, the only thing that could help her focus on the here and now was Mab’s own gem-dice. Thus did Mab give unto Attwell her own gem-dice, and give away a piece of her heart that was of vital import. Mab’s dice number seven; they are cloaked in  [ brass ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/155/0/13867288/il_570xN.1211549469_phci.jpg) and each have a heart of blessed moonstone, as Mab…

 

It’s funny. Not like a joke, but if you don’t laugh, you’ll set to weeping- funny like that.

I’ve never seen anybody try so hard and fail so  **_badly_ ** at being a Fae woman; fail at being proper. Fae women are homemakers, primarily- the only real duty any woman has in Faeland is to have children at some point. 

Mab tried so many times to get pregnant, but either it didn’t take or- and then, Titania. The Hunt. 

And of course- Mom and Aunt Zippy never longed for the sea the way Mab did. The way Morgan did. 

Mom and Aunt Zippy are bound to the Land- they work, surely, their excellence comes from what they do, that is feminine sure as sure; no one does hospitality like Aunt Zippy. Mom is mom, there’s no question about it.

 

Mab can have children, surely- but she could not find peace on the Land, which prevented her from getting pregnant and  _ staying _ that way, and the way she was after Titania raped her  _ was not peace. _ And even with her moonstone dice in the hands of another, she still yearned for the sea.

 

Ach- for the longest time the only thing Mab was really good at was spear-fighting. She learned to sew because Morgan wouldn’t accept anything less than perfect daughters; and Mab tried  _ so hard. _

The only way I can think to say it is- is- there are stories of princesses who rebel, who decide that being a princess is stupid and worthless and they run away. 

Mab is a princess who never rebelled; she decided to stay, even when it became clear and clearer that she would never find happiness upon the Land, and only a pale seeming of it in the Sky. Mab tried so hard to learn to be a princess, a good Skuan Royal; and she failed.

Mab is too- kind. She is too kind, too merciful to be a Skuan Royal. And her heart could find no peace on the Land, filled as it always was with the Sea-longing.

 

Skuan Royals, when they are female, are educated thusly; in management of the household and kingdom, acceptable ways of dispensing charity, and in the Seven Laws. Sometimes the education of a Princess includes instruction in public affairs, politics, and history. The education of a Princess is carried out at home under the supervision of the reigning Queen. Except Queen Morgan was coronated mere days after her children’s birth, and thereafter never set foot in public as Queen again; was always off campaigning.

Mab’s job was the dispensation of charity, except- Queen Morgan wouldn’t let her. Queen Morgan sent her to be educated like a son would be, and Mab- she tried  **_so hard._ ** She couldn’t do her job as Princess, so she tried to be a soldier. Mab is exactly the wrong kind of person to ever survive being a soldier; she’s not… she’s Not. Queen Morgan wanted a destroyer; the only thing Mab has ever, but ever been good at doing- as far as I’ve ever known her- is dancing and creation. For any other Fae woman, that would be enough- but the Skuan Princess is, by her very definition of Royal, a Queen-in-training. And the Queen is the strongest member of the Skuan Army- is, in fact, an army all by herself.

Mab tried, and she tried, and in the end it killed the one known as Mab Boudica for the trying. And yet, when push came to shove, Mab slew Morgan and became an army all by herself- so perhaps she was just never what Morgan wanted on the schedule Morgan proscribed.

 

It’s the height of foolishness to repeat mistakes- not just your own, but other people's. And so I gave up my claim on the Throne, and left my beautiful crown of ivory beads in a box in my cabin; and I wear a simple band of leather, as far as crowns go. I have the Sea-longing too, you see; don’t  [ let the beast-fangs on my face ](https://myanimelist.cdn-dena.com/images/characters/10/198811.jpg) or the wildness of my nature fool you. I too, long for the Sea.

And so I am no proper Princess; I must find my own path, then.

-Ach, I’ve spoken too much on melancholy things. Attend! And I shall speak the tale of my battle with the mighty Wada, who’s doughty fins did very nearly snap my fishin’ pole ere the blaze of our battle. 

 

That's a lie, I've only the one way to fish- but it sounds nice, so I suppose I'll leave it in.

 

The Agate Forest is not a forest at all, but a lake where Mirrurmaer-river flows down, down, down the grey-stone colored clouds. From deep within the strange depths rise crackling limbs of trees to vast and precarious high to be anything other than ancient. The waves are murky grey-brown-white, lit from below in shades of fire with the dawning of the day and from above shining like mirror-silver with the noon-sun. It smells of moss, there, and wet heat and dead fish, rotting on soupy wooden beams suspended by their own strength in the close wet air and the sun, the sun boils sweat from the brow leaving thin lines of salt as the only sign of it’s passing.

The Forest is on a series of steppes, from the highest peak, at the dropoff of Mirror-river’s waterfall to the low rollicking pale-blood scrublands; at dawn, the forest becomes a plain of smooth, glistening agate-stones.

My boat is made in the same fashion as a Warbow would be, a spine of hard straight wood, ash, and glued together with fish glue, thick Sea King hide and smooth scales that hide me from the fish in the water below. It’s a big canoe-style flat bottom gig, soft-white color Adam wood, oar-fin color of black-loon bird foot.

 

Supplies for the Cabin, Fishpicably Magfishicent:  [ a hammock tent ](https://outdoorrush.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/rent-hammock-tent-in-st-george.jpg) , a sleeping bag with a liner that I shake, and switch, and air it out, sleep between the feeling of clean bedsheets each night. Rain fly and mosquito netting, soft blue glow potions because malaria is real and will kill you, tent repair kit, more rope and extra pitons in case I need to move camp. Clothes;  [ board shorts ](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0012/9452/products/biarritz_front_1024x1024.jpg?v=1277229401) , mostly yellow but other colors too, striped; rashie shirt, says “hey, [ don’t eat me, I’m not a fish ](http://s7d2.scene7.com/is/image/dkscdn/17CA2WSTRPDCRPPDRWAR_Black_and_White_Stripe_is/) \- hey, I taste awful, back off”. Mostly for when I go recreational. Bar of shampoo, bar of conditioner, bar of plain soap- nothing that would hurt the land. Packbag, canteen, knife, flint and steel, drinking cup,  [ my hat ](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41%2BIMShhO-L.jpg) , first aid kit, stuff sack for dirty laundry, sunscreen lotion, eisen multitool, whistle, Eternal Pose back to Faeland, Eternal Pose to Tomb Hills, Eternal Pose to Mt. Thunderhead, safety pins, lip balm, waterproof journal, normal pencil, map pencils, fountain pen, ink. Leisure books for the middle of the day when fishing is no good, deck of cards for when Ciconia or Daesung stops by my camp, toothpaste, toothbrush, unflavored dental floss, pocket mirror, wide tooth comb, storm lantern, lantern oil, candles, bait bucket, wash bucket, work knife. Cast iron frying pan, Norten oven, cooking chopsticks, roasting fork, metal plate, Original Black Tonic, food for forty-nine days.

 

Mom made me a spear; called it 'Sharp'. It's red hafted. Not much to say, really.

 

[ Wading shoes ](https://s22-us.vinted.net/images/item_photos/214/697/72796412.JPG?1439439546) for sharp knife-bark areas; there are stands of zulwood trees around, and I only needed to slice my feet to hell the once. Stabweed’s a thistle with attitude; zulwood’s like a handful of broken glass.  [ Rain jacket ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/071/1/11296628/il_340x270.827277525_ndlb.jpg) , because it rains often enough to make it worth the investment; orange bars on the jacket because “still not a fish, don’t eat me”. Designed a skinsuit, but don’t dive quite often enough to- no, I asked Mab to make it for me and she had it done by the next time Famband came around. It doesn't really say “Not a fish, don’t eat”; they say the exact opposite, really. She gave me four- two high vis, two regular, one fancy for special occasions or just when I want to feel nice. Mab’s still my favorite sister, even now.

 

 

So- Fishspicably Magfishicent. There’s a stand of  [ cherry trees ](http://media.treehugger.com/assets/images/2011/10/patientgardener.jpg) , tall and bent and grown together, the old hunter’s lodging; just roots growing under the high winding curves, a branching lattice above. Hammock tent gets tied into the branching bower of the trees; and then I set up camp for my Delving. Sisko isn’t here- her camp is, and she left a note on the slate, says she’s off checking in with Noosa and Lem, don’t worry. Sisko is always a bit more concerned with plants, which is fine- her friends will keep her from wandering off too far.

 

What I do is called Delving; used to be you’d go down into the earth and mine out gems. I don’t do that; what I do is different. Sorta different. The depths of a mine and the insides of a live fish are both the darkest dark you’ll ever see; just. The inside of a mine, you can hear and feel the whole of the Land above you, creaking and settling. The inside of a fish, you can feel and smell and taste the live creature around you, wriggling and moving.

I have issues. I can admit that.

 

Now, here’s how it works- I go out and gather the fish-gems from the gullets of terrible beast-fish; great monsters from ancient days, and in their stomachs are gemstones of such a terrible power… I gather gems, or wool, or what have you, and Atty turns it into cut gems or roving, and then Mab makes jewelry or thread and that’s how it works. I’ve been holding off on bringing gems- they both know I’m hunting them, but I don’t want to bring them to Atty until I have enough that surely, surely she can find ones that resonate with her. This hunting trip, if I manage to find the fish I’m after, will make forty nine. Seven sets of seven is more than enough, I think- and… when she’s done making her picks, maybe I can- nevermind.

 

 

So Aunt Tiny’s favorite sandwhich to make is the  [ Florian Jama ](https://www.zagat.com/b/how-to-make-the-perfect-cubano-sandwich) ; she uses several different kinds of meat, sausages, cheese, and so on. I don’t actually know what she puts into the stinkbait other than leavings and leftovers from her absurdly good Flojama Sammies; blood, from the basic smell of it. Aunt Tiny’s stinkbait is foul; it looks like shit, honestly. It looks like that absurdly soft, brown shit that’s just on the edge of being a splatter when it comes out of your ass. And it stinks. Not quite as bad as Yuki when she gets back from work, but it stinks like nothing else; not quite as foul as human corpses, not quite as terrible as having to slog through the sewers after Ooruki the Gemfish, which I did, but- bad.

Oh, yeah. They have names. The Gemfish I delve into, peruse their guts like the pages of a novel; they have names. And personalities.

This time, I’m going after Whopper.

 

Here’s the thing- I don’t like killing the gemfish I get the gems from. If the fish is alive, in another seven years, it’ll grow another beautiful gemstone that can be harvested. Of course, considering that the gemfish I go after are fully large enough to challenge full grown Sea Kings, well… 

Aunt Tiny is really a hobbyist, not a full on producer of stink bait. However, her stink bait, once I’ve doctored it with some Chalk Blue, a little pigeon’s blood, Land-animal repellent from the Djinni bodega down the street, and ground deer-antler, is the best at attracting Gemfish.

A gemfish is, technically speaking, a kind of catfish; and catfish like things that stink. So. 

The process- my process- of catching them goes as follows. For each delving, I get a new tub of stink bait from Aunt Tiny, and then doctor it with crumbled Chalk Blue, two tea-cups full of pigeon’s blood, a bottle of Land-animal repellent from the Djinni bodega, and enough heaping handfuls of ground deer antler to turn the resultant rank slurry into… well, a great and terrible poo. And then I put the lid back onto the tub, seal it tight, pop the tub’s little vent so it doesn’t explode, and leave it for about a week. Now… there’s a secret ingredient to my special stink bait that’s going to stay secret. Suffice to say, the pollen I have to add for full pungency is a bit…  [ intoxicating ](https://youtu.be/fmQ6t8evUCU) .

There’s a way to make sense of what it’s like to smear yourself outside your mind, cover every square inch of skin and skinsuit with hallucinogenic shit-looking stink bait and drag sharp thick acrid smoke through your mouth and lungs and hold it in with the aid of a hand rolled cigarette and my own experience and then float myself on the surface of a murky lake where a giant catfish lurks.

I know there’s a way to make sense of that, but I don’t know what it is- I can only describe what I remember experiencing.

 

It starts the same way, every time- first, I’ll be staring at the silvergreen undersides of the leaves in the trees, and then they’ll start oscillating between magenta and puke green and orange. Then they tessellate; sharp colors melt into strange shapes, melting melting melting into each other and I drift under a full color web of grace and it smells of mold and swampwater and below me is the last fish is Wada the Whopper Gemfish smells like death smells like swamp and the teeth on it feel like velcro like a zipper doesn’t break the skin but in I go.

Coldwarm throat stiff and hot and swallowing me, roll to my feet and grip onto the ledge edge fingerclaws dig into the slippery skin and guts of the fish. Hang over the bubbling ooze of it’s stomach guts the smell the smell of melting flesh because Wada eats other fish and dead things and plants and it all bubbles in his gut climb down closer to the acid wells brace my lungs and filter it out come on come on there we go. Slide down and climb along the edge along the ledge and step light light as feathers in the wind leap through dripping guts and wiggle wiggle through to the red blood side-slip like a needle through like a needle through cloth through flesh through his flesh and there is no light but I’ve done this enough that I know what I’m doing breath out another rank cloud of smoke and let the blunt cigarette go out in a hot wash of fish-blood. Seal the flesh wall behind me.

The intestines squirm and wriggle like snakes dipped in hot oil, squirming and pressing against me and I ooze through tight squirming space. Different smell, like blood but not. Hot, slimy. I know where the gem is- right here, base of the spine where tailbones turn into fin there’s a knob and that’s the gem. Doesn’t hurt the fish to remove it like this, so long as I do it carefully. Two quick nips and a handful twist and pull into the small pouch at the small of my back wiggle wiggle like a worm and a snake and slide through flesh and muscle and pop out like a bead of stinking sweat from under scales. Rise to the top of the lake with a coating of fish slime and float like oil on a bowl of ramen. My skinsuit melted in the fumes, and it sloughs off as I climb onto the shore not wearing anything underneath who wears underwear under their swimsuit? S’weird.

My skin looks tessellated like I’m mosaic viewed through a kaleidoscope but I know that’s not right grab the catfish that lunges for my head cheeky bastard CRACK and watch the waves emanate out from where it’s head struck the stone and he goes still and fluttery perfect needed a fish for the Redant Tree.

I’m far in the Wilds; there’s no need for clothes this far out except my own personal sense of shame. It ain’t no thing, fairy wing. Redants eat flesh and only flesh and my shoulders ache and I step careful careful one two three take the bloody flesh covered gem from my belt pouch and shove it into the gills of the fish and walk walk walk near the cherry house but not too near in a blind of stabweed there stands a red thorned tree and there is a hollow in it’s roots where glows a multitude of gems numbering exactly forty-eight I know because I put them there and nothing else but me is crazy enough to be messing around with a nest of redants and I throw the fish with the gem at the base of the tree and they swarm like fire mere seconds after the fish hits the trunk and I walk back to camp tomorrow is Famband and this intoxication isn’t going to wear off for a week too late now. Here’s a thing and a thing no one knows and that thing is that redants only eat dead flesh that disturbs their tree and they hunt for all the rest so if a living creature were to disturb their nest and  **be still** they would eat the dead things of their flesh and no more.

 

I left clothing out at home just in case I managed it the first time; one of Mab’s  [ old jumpers ](http://gloimg.rosegal.com/rosegal/2015/201502/source-img/1423001543288-P-2306490.jpg) it's made of cotton and it only stays up on me because of the extra buttons Aunt Zippy stitched on for the collar what goes around my neck,  [ pinafore dress ](https://img0.etsystatic.com/133/0/11527842/il_570xN.1026029184_ayq8.jpg) in eye burning yellow it's made of linen and my wings spilt out of my skin as I shrug on and button up the straps. I take a rest until the sun sets, let the blood pump into my wings knew they were coming in got ‘em checked and they’re fine they’re fine all the nerves came in fine only concern was they wouldn’t be Formation standard but I’m Wild Fae so it doesn’t matter. My clothing is made of linen and cotton and the buttons are made of wood and I sway oddly with my wings my wings my wings are  [ green? ](http://kingofwallpapers.com/luna-moth/luna-moth-010.jpg) Green with thick brown lines on the top pair and dark eyespots.

The cherry house bloomed during the day, and I’m steadily drenched in blossoms and the smell of sweet flowers. And then my wings are full and beautiful and feathery soft I cannot fly fast but I can fly quiet and hide in the Wild green places and I take a red cotton bandana and start walking back to the Redant tree the moons are rising and it comes to me at last the truth the truth the truth is I always wanted to be just like Mab I wanted to be her I wanted to be as beautiful and strong and I’m-

Not. I’m not Mab.

I’m just me.

Walk through a glade of yrongrass; my legs are not cut. See the owl-bird stalk above the blades of grass, it’s wings silent and moonbright. Himinglæva’s white white light makes her movements plain her movements owl-bird wings flap and flutter but make no noise and then she pounces and flutters up onto a bend of yrongrass stalk with a vole in her mouth snaps its neck with a twitch of her own and swallows it down headfirst no chewing needed. The smell of pinesap and the taste of vineapples, eat one green and whole and it is sweet like spring water. I come again to the stabweed tree and my hair is full of fern-branches, yellow in the pale moonlight. My skin my bones my blood my wings all of me turns the black shining Haki black shining and I stoop and from the bones of many fish I gather forty-nine gems exactly and tie them into a soft red bandanna and when the red ants come they devour the skin the scales that were left behind from my transformation but I am still and they do not touch me. They do not touch me.

 

With their passing comes an easing of something, my back feels- clean. I take my gems, and I leave from that place, and I go to the cherry house I go home go home little wolfish woman and it is dawn and in the shadow of the tree trunks, set on the stone bench covered over with moss is Mab my sister sister sister, see how I have grown.

 

“I can see that quite well, Amberjack.” said Mab and her voice is beautiful my sister is beautiful and I’ve a quest to complete I must go to Famband and then sleep I must I must.

 

“I think that can be arranged. First though, I think you should put this on, that pinafore is a bit short on you.” said Mab, faintly blushing my sister is beautiful and strong and very shy be nice to her.

 

“Oh dear.” said Mab mab mab why is it spelled with ‘mab’ when it sounds like ‘mav’ that’s weird and silly. This skirt is nice and soft. Soft skirt and oh oh oh I need to bring something for Ace Ariel there is a flame he must have and he’s not ready to get it himself but he needs it now he needs it now. I've a bit of the Second Sight myself but I can only use it when I'm intoxicated.

 

“Okay.” said Mava and then I walk and walk pouch of gems in one hand sweaty hand walk through a valley in the forest the trees grow taller and darker and my sister is at my back what do I have to fear? Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

 

There is a cave and from it’s heart glows a soft and warm light and it is a light held aloft by the stone hand of an Automata named named named  [ Sophia ](http://www.sothebys.com/content/dam/stb/lots/N09/N09484/330N09484_8ZPFJ.jpg) yes yes Felix told me  _ everything _ and he needs embers from Sophia’s Light. I saw it. I saw it. Many do not see such things-  **but I Saw It.**

 

Sophia sophia I have returned as I said I would. White stone moves and shifts before my eyes and the gentle cold gaze of Sophia who shifts and steps forwards and stoops her lantern blazing with light and I black my hand and she puts her empty hand to the lantern and pulls it’s ribs wide and from it’s depths I take one two three four five six seven blazing embers in the blackened palm of my empty hand they’re hot but I do not burn. Sophia brushes my hair back from my face, and then I am not myself at all.

 

* * *

 

I said before that Danelphe doesn’t leave her house. This is still true; what Danelphe does isn’t, technically speaking, leaving her house. Where my sister stood stands Danelphe, ageless and radiant in the Wild place. She is learned in magic far greater than mine own, and as far as I know, bears no Devil Fate.

I don’t know how she does the things she does.

I also have no idea how old my Dana is. But here’s the thing; as the oldest daughter of the old queen still in good standing of the house of Morgan, I am Queen. It’s a title, and in Skua, it’s gender is female regardless of who actually holds it; there have been male queens, and agender queens.

History will say I had many reasons for hunting and killing Titania. I say this: I killed him because he deserved to die.

 

I am the Queen of the Dead; only, Elphame, my Daun, is the Queen of the Swans, and they recognize me as Queen of the Fae. So… 

I don’t quite have their bearing yet. Hell’s bells, I don’t have Granuna’s bearing yet, and Granuna’s Queen of Hell; and a more homely and comforting queen you will never find. I’ve no idea how Danelphe changed me into my  [ ceremonial clothing ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/47/20/d0/4720d01ab5335b559c9e51b97aadc617.jpg) , but they did and I’m not sure how they got me into it in the blinking of an eye but they did and it’s not what Perona made for me nor what Granuna altered for me it’s fancy and beautiful and I’ve only got- I actually know how to make all of this, when did that happen? I- Oh. 

I’ve- I’ve grown.

I’ve grown too. ( [ Mother, I’m here. ](https://youtu.be/YlfUcnSbKDA) )

 

The Wind took me home.

 

“I’m home, Daun Elphame.”

“Welcome home, Mab Boudicca Tailor.” they say.

 

Still not entirely sure how to make all of my Dana’s clothing though- it’s mostly their extra adornments, I don’t know what kind of bird- those are phoenix feathers on their belt. The beads are… some kind of amber? It looks like amber, but I just don’t know. Their skin is supple like tree bark, and their eyes are black like ink.

I hold up a finger, because I’ve just remembered something important- yes, heart-shaped leaves and fuzzy stems, bell-shaped flowers hanging below the leaves. They look kinda like smoochy faces, really. I carefully dig up the wild Skuan ginger, take the rhizomes from in between the plants and put them back more or less as I found them; I soon have a rather towering pile of it on my very large hanky. So much ginger. I’m also slightly dirt coated, which- normally, I wouldn’t care, but- these are really nice clothes that I’ve covered in mud but there’s things I do with my Devil Fate and there’s things I do by hand, same as anything. And- I really care about ensuring the comfort of my family when I take them on small ventures.

Dana Elphame smirks down at me, their steel grey hair the only indication of their true age. Still don’t know how old they actually are, but- younger than Granuna. Definitely younger than Granuna. My dana rattles the flame dice in their cupped hand, and then closes it. I return to their side, a little tense and grubby, and my dana- smiles? Their eyes are soft and gentle.

 

“It’s on the Sea… so.”

“Ah. Dust off, and let us depart.” they say.

 

I press my hands together and with a sharp yet careful snap downward, press the dirt of the forest back into the ground and off of my hands and the rhizomes and my soft light skirts. Dana places Jackie’s treasure in my hand and takes the fresh ginger with a wry twist of their lips. They hold their closed hand out to me, close their eyes. I wrap my hand over their loosely held hand in which reside the Ember Sophia dice, smile a goodbye at Sophia (who inclines her head before returning to her place.) We leave the forest in a blinking.

 

I don’t drop us off directly in the music room like I would have if it were just me and Jackie. I set us down in the shadow of the mainmast on the Moby Dick. Danelphe sways and hums softly.

 

“S’been quite some time since I’ve been on the Sea. Urrgh.” they say.

“Ah? Oh no- here, have some ginger.”

“Thank you, dearest. ...I suppose we must pay respect to the Captain of this ship.” they say, slightly queasy.

“Aye, we ought to. S’polite.”

“Lead on, then.” they sigh.

 

I walk us into the light and the pure radiance of my Danelphe very nearly  [ strikes me blind. ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/87/c3/73/87c37332b0ea80070bc5e4221cc1eedb.jpg) Bright red phoenix feathers drift in the breeze, and the gold edging on their tarnished silver cape glows in the bright light of false-dawn. Between me and my Danelphe stands a very formally dressed  [ Amberjack ](http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/17200000/San-princess-mononoke-17253617-853-480.jpg) , wearing clothing that is at once a herald of the owl, the moth, the wolf; some fey, wild creature not of this world but the Other. No ears in her pelt, but feathers or antenna; her mask a beak, a pair of eyes, half her face; she is a Wild Fae.

My sister has surely grown; she is tall enough now to brace Danelphe as their truly dreadful seasickness tries its level best to get them to break composure. This is, of course, a losing battle; my Dana does many things, but losing their composure is not one of them. Considering how purely miserable Danelphe becomes on the ocean, it really is a testament to their love and care that they would risk a full week’s worth of upset stomach, migraine, and insomnia simply to lay eyes and a blessing on their great-grandson.

 

 

Dana takes the first bite of cleaned ginger with a grimace; they don’t actually like ginger, it’s just the only thing that works to keep, well, anything down, really. (That was a terrible summer trip, really it was. We all had an awful time; and Felix is Not Allowed to Pick the Vacation Destination. The salamanders were cute as hell, but the ash and soot and the choppy waters were  _ not good. _ )

 

I wait for the color to more or less even out on my Dana’s face before I lead them over to where Whitebeard is taking in the dawn on his… it’s not  _ exactly _ a throne, _ I guess _ . It’s technically a captain’s chair. A huge throne-like captain’s chair. I mean,  _ I guess _ . Ace was sitting on the railing, and we picked him up in our passing.

Whitebeard is an old horny seadog and usually I don’t care because he’s also a bit of a proper chauvinistic gentleman and he’s never hit on me. I don’t think he’d make a pass at a married woman. He’s not that kind of man. 

However, my Dana is not only of an age with him, possibly, they’re also visibly unmarried and very beautiful besides. So they’re Fair, I mean to say. Or at least, he seems to think so, and they’re not disabusing him of the notion; I mean, how often does Danelphe get flirted with? Urgh, I mean- if you had any doubt that Granuna and Danelphe are sisters cut from different parts of the same cloth, the way they’re both very receptive to the advances of- well, I mean. Ace’s Pops is a bit of a silver fox, but- Ew ew ew ew old people germs ew ew ew.

I leave the old people to their flirting and go get the rest of my siblings. Each time I return, it’s either to my Dana vomiting over the rail and being comforted by an increasingly embarrassed Ace, or to my Dana flirting outrageously with Whitebeard and Ace turning the exact shade of red as a  [ vineapple ](http://cdn.c.photoshelter.com/img-get2/I0000BjZcemY_5yM/fit=1000x750/Tomatoes-LB0908-3317.jpg) . It’s actually pretty cute. Ace turning the color of a vineapple I mean, nothing is- okay,  _ I guess _ old people flirting is a little cute but argh argh argh that’s my Dana, that’s our Dana ew ew ew. GAh, I’ve- I’ve made that exact same expression, we’re all turning vineapple red now. 

Poor Marco doesn’t know if he should be happy for his captain, scandalized by my Dana, horrified that he’s close enough to hear everything they’re saying, or all three options and more. I wonder- oh, Easy just handed him a steaming tankard of Black Tonic with milk and honey, patted him on the arm; he took a drink, took a mental step back, and seems to be carefully ignoring everything and enjoying his morning coffee. 

Good for him.

 

So anyway, I guess the most interesting happenings that day were as follows; our Dana cheerfully announced that they’d be healing Whitebeard’s failing liver then and there, as he was a delectable pile of seaweed and they’d very much like to partake- however, with him doing so poorly, it was odds to evens if he’d fall dead during the “partaking” and if he fell he would crush them. 

This announcement was sufficient to make all of us under the age of thirty and Marco cringe violently because OLD PEOPLE SEX EW EW EW EW- and I hadn’t even had breakfast yet, the plan was to get brekkies with Jackie before- EW- and Dana cackled because they know what they want and they’re past the age of fucking around getting at it and as our Dana one of their chiefest joys is embarrassing the snot out of all their adorable great grandchildren. 

I understand this, really, but oh god I did not need to know that and now I can’t stop thinking about if Whitebeard is proportional or not and Dana’s only about Ace’s size if he’s proportional how would it even fit Dana’s hips are only so big no matter what’s in their pants and argh argh argh argh aaaaaaaaaaargh. But what if he’s not proportional that raises even more questions aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh-

Fuck it. If he’s proportional- how does he have sex with anyone without killing them? Giants are not actually that easy to find. If he’s  _ not _ proportional-  **_how does he piss?_ **

 

These are the questions close proximity to my Danelphe brings to the surface.

 

 

Amberjack enacted a series of Trades, wherein the gems she had been gathering since she was eight were traded to Attwell in exchange for an astrolabe which was traded to Spadey for a box of pins which she traded with me for my deck of cards which she traded to Attwell for my old dice which she traded with me for Spadey’s old fortunetelling sticks, which were on loan from Danelphe, who was watching this whole thing with a wide, wide grin. Jackie then took the sticks to Danelphe who traded them for the Ember Sophia dice, which blazed in the morning light like fresh-fallen stars. 

Ace couldn’t take his eyes off of them. 

Amberjack stalked up to Ace, took his left arm which had a Log-pose and a strange bracelet on it, and put the Ember Sophia dice in his hand. She tugged off the Log-pose, took the strange bracelet, and left him with the dice. He was still staring at them, but his smile was a bit- I had to look away from it, his smile was too- much. 

Amberjack then stalked over to Dory, who was all but bouncing with gleeful excitement. Amberjack held out the Log-pose and bracelet, and Dory gave her… a  [ bowling-ball bag ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/5b/58/c0/5b58c04c61407538faf0726d24869f0c.jpg) made of leather. 

 

Then I understood what was going on- it’d take her the rest of the day to get through the rest of our sisters, Dory being the only one who would accept a material trade, but by the time she was done, she’d been very gently beautified and had a full collection of fortune telling paraphenalia. 

 

Dory provided the crystal ball in a handy case; with an expression of deep distaste, Jackie let Felix give her a manicure for a complete collection of  _ avestata _ , blessed bird-statues used for Augury; 

Ophiuchus gave her a mild spritz with some rose water for a lovely tea set in a case; Ezra did something with her hair to make it lie more neatly for several decks of tarot cards; Ciconia did something with her face and made her very subtly  **more** for a truly stunning pendulum; Gable looped a glimmering shimmering crystal dagger around Jackie’s neck for a spirit board; and finally, she traded them all; crystal ball in it’s case, tea set in it’s case, tarot card decks, pendulum, and spirit board for her Treasure of Fishgems and Memories from a nearly weeping Attwell. 

Amberjack is a very good girl with an extreme distaste for doing things any other way than the right way- and she doesn’t care if she has to bow her proud neck real lowly to do it, if it means getting what needs doing done right, she’ll do it. I had to press my hand to my chest to try and keep it from bursting like a bag of popping corn from sheer unrelenting pride in my younger sister’s sheer goodness. 

This is but one of many reasons Jackie is my favorite. 

 

She’s- I’ve always really admired her forthright nature, her unwavering resolve even in the face of pure awfulness. Jackie also told us all the story of how she even got her Treasure, and showed off her sparkling gemstones in the blazing sun. They’re gorgeous and my sister is strong and brave and I love her to pieces. My sister is also crazy because she covers herself in hallucinogenic stink bait and then lets giant catfish swallow her so she can get at their vital regions without hurting the fish. 

She’s nuts and I love her.

 

After lunch, which was held on deck, and had our poorly Dana lunging for the rails again- and we’d gone near three hours without them in such a wretched state too, poor devil- Felix played an electroamp guitar and [ Jackie sang. ](https://youtu.be/e8GU4_O8Ptw) Ace began to understand the monumental task he had put before me, but he didn't really get it. He hasn't heard Felix play the harp.

Under the bright sunlight, we enjoyed the music, chattered to each other, and very pointedly did our best to ignore whatever the hell Dana was doing with herbs and suchlike to Whitebeard because ARGH ARGH ARGH I REMEMBERED PENETRATIVE SEX ISN’T THE ONLY KIND OF SEX FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK-

 

Oh, and perhaps most importantly, Dana gave Ace Ariel three kindly kisses- one on the apple of each cheek, and one on the hidden third eye of his brow. He seemed a little bewildered to be getting such attention from the Queen of Swans, but considering he’d already agreed to her tutelage, there wasn’t much to be done about it.

 

Hopefully the knowledge that blooms in his mind doesn’t break it.

 

* * *

 

Amberjack Eolande was born of wolves. That’s not really a hyperbole; she decided to hatch on the Flight from Thuletima when she was on the back of Morose the Wolf, still in her egg.

I know this because she told me.

And I know this because around her shoulders is a cape of wolf-fur; on her face are three blood-red fangs.

Most of all, I know this because when I tried to steal from her plate, she bit my hand and snarled. When she let go of me, blood began to well from my hand and wrist.

I was the first time in years an animal had bitten me. It was the first time in years that I bled.

Jackie reminded me, very painfully, actually, that I am a man of flesh and blood.

I am a man, and I can bleed. If I can bleed, I can die.

So, I didn’t do that again.

Like, ever- still working on not doing it out of habit, but I've never consciously stolen anything again, not like that.


	15. 09:00; Flash and Substance

These are the things I always knew:

A composer writes a piece completely from scratch. 

An arranger takes influence from another piece or set of pieces.

 

I’m primarily a composer, though arrangement is fun to do.

Bryony is primarily an arranger, though she can compose- she’s actually a fantastic Jazz musician, in addition to being very well versed in the poetic chanting known as Rap, which is fascinating to hear her talk about. I, personally, don’t like it- but that’s probably because I’m too old to keep up.

Bryony, because she is a darling treasure, says that I’m not ‘too old’ for  **_any_ ** kind of music, and she will find some, and barring that,  **make** me some Rap music I can enjoy.

I’m looking forwards to it, honestly- as far as lyrics go, she’s frankly astounding, and to hear that voice of hers going at it…

Oh, my skin’s prickling with excitment. Or it would if I had skin! Yohohohoho~!

Ahem.

What else do I know- ah! A medley or remix is always an arrangement. A transposition and change in chord structure is an arrangement. A transcription is an arrangement if anything is not 100% accurate.

 

The actual act of arranging can vary greatly between simple orchestration, whereby the arranger makes the music available to a wide range of instruments; to basically writing a new piece with someone else's melody. 

For me personally, the melody is where I draw the line. If I wrote the melody, I've composed that piece, regardless of how original or unoriginal the arrangement is. As my friend Yorki would say- perhaps completely missing the point, but I doubt it- “You’ve gotta hear that  **_tone,_ ** mang.”

Ah, Yorki. You never did quite come all the way back from the War, did you? None of us did, but you were… well, you were always the Captain, that never changed… I miss you; I miss talking to you, and curling around you, and hearing your beautiful voice. I don’t miss your incredibly smelly  [ skunk-weed cigarettes ](https://www.leafly.com/news/health/cannabis-and-post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd) , no matter how good they were for stabilizing your moods.

Ah, where was I?

Oh, right. Having both skills- arrangement and composition- is important if you want to be a well rounded musician. 

Composing is definitely more rewarding for me, although it's much harder, but I wouldn't be as good a composer if I hadn't had a background in arranging to support it. Generally I keep arrangements on the simple side mainly because if I'm going to put a lot of work into recomposing a piece, I would rather use my own melody and be able to monetize it without worrying about copyrights.

 

I probably should go over what I learned during my time separated from the crew. Hm.

 

The future is a strange and foreign country, much like Death. Still, as always, music is a guiding polestar,  [ a light ](https://youtu.be/sroqmHVueiI) in the confusing darkness I find myself in, be it internal or external.

Little Mab was kind enough to give me a standing invitation to her Family Band Practice, a charming tradition that I’d almost forgotten from when I was a child; it was good to be a part of such a musical tradition again. Upon her second visitation, she fostered the return of my relationship with Lady Bryony. I sometimes find it hard to sleep, so it’s no trouble for me to take a few more third watches or offer a fourth watch relief to whomever may be in the crow’s nest. Bryony doesn’t really sleep at night at all; and considering our daytime relationship, she and I are actually good friends more than anything else. I’m one of Bryony’s only confidants on the crew, alongside Mark and Sweet Taffeta. However, her two best friends have the same amount of life experience she does. I think it’s very useful to have a variety of friends- I’ve been encouraging her to become more friendly with the rest of the crew, but it’s slow going. She’s starting to write letters to everyone, at least.

It's fun, watching her work through her internal issues using a political stance that was old and dry when I was young and crazy.

 

Mostly I relearned what I really always knew; Syreene women are warm and gentle and just as soft and exciting as I remember from when I was nineteen- or from Ms. Perona. Perona never- she was just my landlady, really, let me bang away on her old piano and kept making clothing for me. There was no banging between the two of us, chiefly because Ms. Perona…  [ Her panties are lovely and lacy and see through ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/105/1/11502588/il_340x270.1007595929_esqu.jpg) and she has no shame or apprehension in showing them off to me because Skuan’s don’t care about that sort of thing. That really takes some of the fun out, and never mind that she’s not my type either. Still, syreenes know how to touch a man in all the right places- even if those places don’t necessarily exist, technically speaking. Skull joke. Heart joke. Mind joke. Yohohohohohoho.

 

There was only ever one Syreene for me though.  [ Mrs. Penny Jones ](https://youtu.be/81bgy94vdRI) is long dead, of course, and when she was alive… we mostly wrote letters to each other. Nothing- nothing like what gets written today, of course. We made our promises, we made our plans- and when she didn’t show up, sent her apology letter, well. I was young, and angry, and I left for the sea. 

The song I wrote for Mrs. Jones- that’s what got me picked up by a Recording Company. 

Except, well, I'm partners with Bryony in terms of music; that’s the way it is on our crew. 

I give her substance- she gives me flash. And then we switch… 

 

I’m the musical equivalent of a lawyer, perhaps.

I mean- here’s part of what Bryony and I ended up writing about what happened with the record company.

 

 

[ _ Anyway _ ](https://youtu.be/cJXuDGL5ooE) _ , you ready? We’ll give you a million beri to get started. _

_ After your album comes out we’ll need back that money that you borrowed _

 

_ (mm-hm) _

 

_ – So it’s really like a loan. _

_ – A loan? Come on, no! _

_ We're a team, 360 degrees, we will reach your goals! _

 

_ You’ll get a third of the merch that you sell out on the road _

_ Along with a third of the money you make when you’re out doing your shows _

_ Manager gets 20, booking agent gets 10 _

_ So shit, after taxes you and Bryony have seven percent to split _

 

_ That’s not bad _

_ I’ve seen a lot worse. _

_ No one will give you a better offer than us! _

 

_ (mm-hm) _

 

_ Brook replied “I appreciate the offer, thought that this is what we wanted; _

_ We would rather be starving artists than succeed at getting fucked.” _

 

_ (mmm-hm) _

 

_ I must confess, I quite agree _

_ I digress, I would rather be true to the confluence _

_ Of events that brought my Faith to the fore _

_ And though I am truly unafraid of fame _

_ At my core I know that it’s not about the money _

_ Because there’s never enough _

_ And it’s not about idolatry  _

 

_ (to rule them all) _

 

_ Because the pedestal that raised you up will always fall _

_ My gift is in service to my gift… _

_ You know if you need me, you just have to call... _

 

She said in her letter that the rest of the poem wasn’t coming to her- and she wasn’t sure if, on the stretched beat, she shouldn’t start an entirely new song; it may well be the coda of the album, or even a transitionary piece. She wrote that if I felt it needed more verses, I was free to add them. 

I did not. 

 

Bryony is a good poet, whatever she may say- she has to have a way with words, considering her Calling. She doesn't have Grim Mark's brevity, nor Sweet Taffeta's insight, but she does understand the true aim of Anarchy better than I ever did. 

Ah, I am old, and maudlin- I swore I never would be, yet I am.

 

Time makes fools of us all, even when we’re dead.


	16. 19:00; The House Always Wins

[ I want to say that I’m the most calm and restrained of my sisters, but that’s a filthy lie. ](https://youtu.be/T1KzScW87ZE) Tigerlily’s the calmest and most restrained- she works with small children, more or less, and is strong enough to powder corundum with her bare hands. I want to say that I’m the smartest, but no. That’s Ezra, because she understands every chemical reaction that goes on in her alcohols. I’m not merciful like Felix, who keeps the animals in her veterinary practice from suffering when their Time runs out; I’m not brave like Ciconia, who faces her worst fear every day she goes to work; I’m not adventurous like Dory, who goes on journeys just to go, and see, and be, and paints whatever the hell she wants to paint; I am not wise to the internal truths of the self, like Attwell who knows more than she could ever be paid to say. I have no knowing of the Wild Places like Amberjack, who is more wild creature now than even our civilizing influences can obscure (though wildness suits her far more than civility ever did). I am no kindly sun ablaze like Ophiuchus, whose light shines even beyond the deathly places.

 

In all honesty- even though I most like building... I like masonry and it’s defence, working well away from others; even though being near other people is a great drain on me- I am most like my older siblings. For us, Honor is binding; it can be said of Spadille, Ace Ariel, Mab, and Gable that we keep our word above all.

An’ it lead to our ruin, yet still- the Royal Line keeps it’s word.

I don’t really care about who I need to lay with to one day bear children- an’ I’m under no obligations like Mab was, so I can afford to wait until I’m good and ready. I can wait until I’m thirty, forty, fifty, seventy, one hundred, even, although that does seem a bit long to wait- though I would surely be an adult by then. No- I have no timer on my life. I have no reason to rush.

Yet neither can I hesitate.

So.

 

 

 

The Royals of Skua have Four distinct duties. The Queen of Hell guards the Tombs where charnellements are laid to rest for seven lifetimes after their living kin has joined them, and sees to the punishment of those who trespass; the Swan Queen ensures the correct formation of the Skisles and enforces the Law in the courts; the Queen of the Dead nudges the world into it’s proper shape and attends to the needs of the Royal Line; and the Deer Queen builds Lands for her people to live on and with and in, wherever they may be.

 

So there are four distinct powers that traditionally belong to Skua. Two you can learn, and two have to be Fated; Mab has the first Fate, and secured the second one back into the Royal’s keeping.

That one- the Fate of the Burning Vearth, the Magma Fate- that one is mine.

There’s a stand of dogwood trees in a valley- same as there’s a fig tree in a hidden glen- and all fae are given leave to pluck a single fruit from that stand of trees. So- I went, the other day. And I plucked a plain pixie pear from the leafy depths of that valley. Then, I traded Fates with Mab; a single pixie pear, plain [ sweet-sharp fruit ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/97/63/4b/97634b76abe8e25e9a627c420e287fca.jpg) for a pixie pear curled over in thin black lines touched with gold that make the eye blur and water. Devil’s Fate; Devil’s Fruit.

Fair’s fair- she can’t do anything with it, and in giving her blessing, well- I can ask my sister for **_anything._ ** She knows that.

And I know that there’s only so many things I really want to ask my sister to do.

When it comes right down to it, my sister will sooner do something kindly than correctly- unless, of course, it would benefit the recipient of said kindness to have correctness, instead.

Honor is binding, indeed.

So.

I trade the Fruit Fairest Fate; I commit myself to join with the Burning Heart of the World.

I have to have it.

 

 

 

My... Ponpon is a bit… how to say it. [ Ponpourri ](https://youtu.be/Knu3mIwdNXQ) is a Skuan Tontatta from the Tomb Hills; she looks [ somewhat like a frog ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/48/66/1a/48661a7686ac4aa1dc5820f27154f768.jpg) . Usually, she hangs out in my pocket or on my shoulder. She’s a lovely little frog-person that can curl up comfortably in the palm of my hand. She’s fully amphibious, and her long hairlike gills are very sensitive, so she usually wears some kind of hat when she’s not in the water. It looks a bit like a [ foxglove blossom ](http://www.alamy.com/stock-photo-foxglove-blossom-digitalis-purpurea-close-up-60107644.html).

Her swimsuit is very [ brightly colored ](https://gyazo.com/c88ef9b50a897aa6f04258a7d2af29f5) , giving her the aura of a [ poison jungle frog ](http://site.webecc.com:8080/images/webecc.jpg) which is certainly her intent, considering her rather caustic persona. She’s actually a very responsible and practical person, just- she’s not all that nice, and she chooses to show it with bright “fuck your eyes” colors.

I have also seen her make diving leaps into women’s bosoms no less than fifteen times. Puberty hit Ponpon _hard_.

It hit her hard and she’s not happy about it _at all._

 

Ponpourri is sworn to me thrice, and though I did not ask of her an oath she gave it to me anyway; thrice, to be perfectly correct.

First, an oath of friendship. Friends will do things for each other’s sake that mere allies would not care about.

Second, an oath of fealty. Ponpourri is more than just my friend, of course- she’s my foreman in our building company.

Finally, and third- an oath of secrecy. I have the best materials and consistently turn out the best work because I’ve got a thousand years of Portgas knowledge at my fingertips.

 

Ponpon is the one who ensures each new member of my crew- if they become a crewmate- is sworn in, same as she was. I guess you could say my workers aren’t here for money. I pay them living wages- we’re not here for money from customers. We’re here to do our jobs- that is to say, we’re here to build houses.

That’s what I do, by the way. I’m a building contractor- technically a Freelance Mason. So.

 

In construction, a team-based attitude is absolutely necessary. Every person in the crew has an important job, even if they’re not physically working at the worksite. There are a multitude of important jobs, and it’s important that every member of my crew works together and uses their tools safely and effectively. (You’ve seen construction workers before- maybe not dockside, but you’ve seen them before. Although our main concern is the construction work, the secondary concern is always safety. People can die really easily on construction worksites.)

I’ve got thirty two people in my crew- thirty three, if you count [ Rumble ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/31/32/af/3132af975aa8ad05ab35b4322837b2ae.jpg), our dog.

 

Let’s see- in order of their appearance on the worksite, more or less.

 

Rumbledog, who guards the site and also boosts morale.

Driveway gets built first if necessary, or at least picked out in cones, aye.

Cleaners start work and don’t stop till the job’s done- but they’re also my painters.

There’s my excavators, Deidre, Martha, Jules, and Valeria.

My concreters, Lucille, Banth, Danry, and Lurisk.

Framers are Deborah, Ochizuma, Marty, and Love.

Masons is me and Ponpon.

Electrics is Twizzle and Digitalis.

Plumbers are Nataja and Spume.

Dry Wallers are Dirk, Marvin, Martje, and Sally.

Rough Carpenters are Lisa, Misa, Masha, Mork, and Mandy.

Finish Carpenters are Drury and Jude.

Painters are Gerry, Jerry, Mary, and Murry- and as I said, during earlier stages of construction, the four Ry’s keep the site really clean and neat, or as neat as possible. And when they’re painting, the rest of us help clean everything up for them.

Then there’s Aiden and Matthias who do flooring exclusively- tile, wood, doesn’t matter, they do it and quick and right.

Appliances are handled by Luka and Martinique and whoever’s done at that point to help wrangle the heavy machinery.

As for landscaping- gardens, trees, and so on- unless they present a clear and present danger to the worksite, it always goes in last. That’s (and the driveway if needed) handled by Big Barb, Little Barbie, and Fancy Barbarella. (Ezra recommended the third Barbarella, and she’s the baby of the crew. Hard worker, willing to learn, and always has good mixtapes.)

Then there’s catering, which is Rhubarbarella and her crew of food-people; including Fallow, who’s only job is to feed Rumbledog. (Barbarella was a really popular name for some reason about thirty years back. I think it’s a book? But it’s really hard to find, now, and Yuki has a copy but I’d have to dig through _so much erotica_ to find it, I just- pass. I don’t really need to know that much.)

 

 

I can’t say I’m blind to Tribal differences. We’re human- we can’t not see those differences. That said, I don’t give a flying fuck about Tribal differences- if you can do the job, you’re in. If you can’t, you’re out.

 

So… my cleaner/painters are Automata, because the stereotype of Automata being very detail oriented is true. (Stereotypes aren’t bad by themselves- it’s basing all your decisions on stereotypes that becomes the problem.)

Excavators are mostly Talfolk, because no one digs like a Giant. No one is strong like a giant; you can yammer about technique all you want, but you can’t teach someone to be ten feet tall and have hands like the claws of a badger.

No one digs like a giant? Well, no one works with Vearth, or even plain earth, quite like a Fae. Concrete, Masonry, Landscaping, and Catering- all that is handled by a mixed group of Fae, with Me and Rhuby being the only Fairies.

Electrics is actually handled by Lanfolk, because Lanfolk are crazy enough to learn all about incredibly deadly things and make them work for them.

Plumbing and appliances is Seafolk.

Drywall, rough carpentry, finish carpentry, and flooring is done by Lonfolk; and nothing is louder than Lonfolk doing carpentry. (One thing is louder, actually, and that’s the sound of my Dana shredding through the wall with her blackclaws when she’s having a good time with Popstache Whitebeard. I’ll tell you how I know this momentarily.)

 

Or rather- I say the various work gangs are mostly one tribe or another, but really we’re a mixed group- each gang is more a suggested work list, not actually set. People work when there’s work, and they help out as they can. I just- I can’t ignore that my crew is from all Tribes. That’d be wrong- we’re all different. But that’s not bad- we all catch things that maybe the others don’t notice.

 

I was talking about Ponpon. How'd I even- nevermind, finish it. Always finish what you start.

My crew bosses are Ponpon who’s my full foreman; then there’s Lucille who’s in charge of the excavators, the concreters, and the framers.

I’m company Captain, and also in charge of the masons, electrics, plumbers, and dry wallers.

Carpentry is Lisa; Painters are actually led by Murry, which most people wouldn’t guess on first glance.

Aiden is flooring and appliances.

And Big Barb runs herd on the landscapers and co-ordinates with Rhubarbarella.

 

Sometimes I can’t believe what my crew goes through- because we don’t just do houses, we also get government commissions for road work. So sometimes…

Sometimes, everyone’s face will be covered in hot soot, sewer grease, and rain. One of my crew will be up to their neck in the road, another will be jackhammering their spinal column into dust, and then there’s whoever’s driving the big roller, smearing steaming asphalt-clouds around like butter. Littering all of them are the crewmates bashing pickaxes into the ground and the ones trying to steer big, clunky bulldozers down the narrow gravel shoulder beside the drop off. Of course, everyone in the work crew is losing brain function by the minute from the fumes which smell like a jammed printing press had sex with a can of petrol. And then there’s Fancy Barb with the Stop sign, and a more mind numbingly boring job there couldn’t be- but you can’t just check out, oh no, you have to be completely present for the job because you’re stopping traffic.

Road work is terrible.

None of us actually like doing it. But, considering [ Fiddler’s Green ](https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/2015-11/17/18/enhanced/webdr09/enhanced-buzz-18946-1447801784-5.jpg) is extensively paved, maintenance is of course, necessary.

 

 

So, Ace promised Moda he’d get a House built for her, their kids, and him too if he wanted. Moda said okay, I’ll start buying house goods; here’s where it can be built. Then Ace realized he had no fucking idea how to build a House. Thankfully, Moda gave him a file about the Land she wanted their House to stand on, a list of what she wanted, the things that absolutely had to be included, and so on.

 

So that’s where I come in.

 

I had about three months to do about thirty years of work. I’m Fae; I can make it happen.

I mean, I only had two days to get a handle on the Fate I traded a pixie pear to Mab for. I did; I learned to vomit lava into the sea every time I got seasick. I spat dribbles of glass against the sand, and got my shit thrashed three or four times by Ace Ariel, Mab, and Spadille. Apparently, I’m tough to fight because I just don’t stop? Which- Consider this.

I have only had my crew of contractors for about three years or so. Ponpon and I grew up together, we’re of an age. I have helped build, on average, six houses a month in totality for those three years- from foundation to landscaping, dressing the house with furnishings. I have also kept up my scholastic career during that time. I don’t have time to waste on stupid whining like “what if I can’t” or “we don’t have time to do it right”.

Listen.

There is **always** time to do it right.

And yes, I **_fucking_ ** can.

So anyway, I’m apparently awful to fight and if my older siblings weren’t as strong as they are, I’d have killed them. I learned to discorporate my body into lava, hold a ball of magma deep in my gut and rasp out thick clouds of poison gases, ash, smoke, smog- apparently I learn very quickly and I don’t fall for the same Trick twice and I most definitely don’t pull the same Trick or Stunt twice. Mava was cackling almost all the way through our fight and she ended up with a pair of small burns on the back of her hands. Spadey and Asher were passed out on her back because-

Because women go harder than men do, I guess, and they just couldn’t keep up with me.

Not many can.

 

 

I got it done- we all did, me and my crew together; but god in heaven, Asher better not do something so stupid again. No, I will never do ten years of work in two and a half months with the last two weeks used for furnishing and landscaping. Never again. Never, never again.

With that said...

Honestly, the various complications of the job sort of blur together into a hellish warbling of one super job that things keep going wrong on; you have one nursery of raccoons removed, you’ve had all the raccoons removed. The best part of my job, though? It’s actually after we get [ the house ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/c9/b2/81/c9b2811fddb6d5c50f920e84f3541711.jpg) done- because Moda paid me to dress her house with the house goods she’d gotten. (I’m actually better at that- Ponpon can wrangle our crew better than me, but I’m the one that actually keeps us all together. Odd, but there it is, true as true. I'm also better at dressing houses for their owners. Weird how things work out sometimes.)

Now- I couldn’t in good conscious build a house with nothing to support it. So uh, I- I called a few friends… and uh. Well. I started talking to Moda’s people, mostly Sir Jinbe, and um. I might have. Sorta kinda. In the course of building a house for my brother’s… fiance, because I know a courting gift when I’m commissioned to build one, and- I mean he probably didn’t know that I’d plan out and lay the roads and help build an entire fucking city for him. Them. But um. I totally did. So. That happened.

There’s the part of the city that’s [ half underwater ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/c7/85/a0/c785a0e056c868cf7f93086fc994e28f.jpg) , and the part of the city in [ perpetual autumn hues ](https://dncache-mauganscorp.netdna-ssl.com/thumbseg/1171/1171937-bigthumbnail.jpg) ; there’s the part of the city in [ blushing pink ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/03/0d/3f/030d3f89018443c53d1cdf33dc4cbde6.jpg) , and [ the market ](https://images7.alphacoders.com/378/378222.jpg) , and [ the harbor ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/74/41/32/7441328a13bf4327a5f5de0b1775701c.jpg) , and [ the hidden, secret places ](http://st.gde-fon.com/wallpapers_original/394328_art_fantasticheskij_3070x1933_www.Gde-Fon.com.jpg) , and- [ their House ](https://images6.alphacoders.com/345/345174.jpg), of course.

In the Est style, because Asher grew up in Est and honestly, it’s a really beautiful style; favored by the Seafolk too, so. I mean. They both like it, actually- I did remember to show them a ‘finished look’ for their future House, and they both liked it fine, so.

Here we are.

 

I dressed and furnished Moda’s house with the things she wanted. Rugs, furniture, lamps and houseplants. Books and paintings and mirrors strategically placed for optimum sightlines because I fucking passed my Home Defense courses and I aim to use my fucking knowledge. And then I realized that the household of Ace Ariel and Moda would be more than just- them, and their kids. It’s not like a Warren down in Mistburrow; it’s more like my own home, Tiffanyan. So I furnished the servant’s quarters, and the guest houses, and- I have built the Vernal Palace. It’s been centuries since there’s been one, but once I realized what Ace and Moda would actually need, more than what either of them knew they wanted- it was pretty simple to remember the old plans, update them, and just… go.

 

So. Seabreeze City in Barira Reef is built along the same lines as Fiddler’s Green; the city is green and growing with it’s own food, and like Water 7, that old Fae chestnut, it’s a hard target bristling with fortifications and water supply. It started with roads, which- okay so. I fudged a little; we were done in five weeks and spent the final week doing road work; and then buildings grew along those roads we built, and it grew and it grew until there stood a Fae City, new-beautiful and self-sustaining. Trade routes- established. House; Built.

So.

 

Ace Ariel didn’t ask me to build him a palace, or a city. Ace Ariel also hasn’t ever been to Tiffanyan, or Fiddler’s Green- he’s just been to Chords, which is the small town where Aunt Tiny and Uncle Ray-Ray live. So here’s my plan- I’m going to ask for an extra week to let everything settle, make sure everything is correct- final checks. Finishing.

 

There **_so much_ ** you can do with a Mastery of Structural Engineering, and the discipline has been around for a long, long time. The designers of the great monuments, palaces, fortresses, and cathedrals of the World had to understand at least the basics of the Art (and yes, it can be just as much an art as a science) in order to create the things that they did. Everything from the Great Pyramids of Alabasta, to the Tower of Lights in Germa, from the Fool’s Bridge in Tequila Wolf to the Statue of Justice in Tiffany Harbor; skyscrapers and apartment complexes, townhouses and office buildings, dock yards and barns and farmhouses- all of these things only stand because someone, somewhere, somewhen, knew how to build things that didn’t collapse in on themselves, **_no matter what._ **

I am one of those people.

And so I built for my brother a city, road, infrastructure, and building alike; I overbuilt it, even, so they can expand it explosively, if need be.

I did it because he is a Prince, and he does have Lands; and they are there, waiting for him.

 

My job’s completion coincided with Mab’s Reparation, meaning we can have Famband at Tiffanyan’s music hall now- Asher and Moda haven’t seen their new place yet.

I told Mab my idea and asked her to handle it for me- and she told me that she’d be happy to, so long as it was okay with Mom and Aunt Zippy.

It was, even when Popstache Whitebeard and Marco and basically the entire Second Division invited themselves along- apparently they’d decided that they wanted to be included in their Captain’s Famventures and… I guess Mab worked it out. And it’s not like Tiffanyan can’t handle Popstache Whitebeard, Marco, and the entire Second Division, all my other siblings and their tagalongs, Moda, Moda’s Skwids, and Moda’s attendants. Oh, and my crew, who worked very hard and deserve a party, dammit.

 

 

So it turned out like- I was in the Main Music Hall, enjoying my family. The Main Hall was where the older group was diggin’ on some old people music I guess? I mean- I noticed that Popstache and Dana were steppin’ out together but they’ve been doing that for months now, it’s not that big a deal.

 

I was also in the Second Music Hall, which is where I actually sang [ a song ](https://youtu.be/jrdZNNG4S8g) . Maybe two? [ Definitely two ](https://youtu.be/qgCVR2pjXc0). If the first one didn't work, the second one surely would, right?

Um. Well.

 

I’m actually the shyest of my siblings, because- I don’t like singing in front of my family. I guess because I’m also the bassist in my crew band which is a little weird maybe? But I mean. I sang a song about masturbation and they all fuckin’ heard me. Of course, I hardly noticed because of all my crewmates’ wild gyrations and cheerful sing-alonging because they are exhausted and also _very horny dammit._ Most of the people in my crew are older than me maybe I guess? Um. So uh. I may be employed as a Freelance Mason, but I’m actually a Sirin- I’m registered with the Skuan Defence Force as such. Um.

So that’s why there was an accidental orgy in the Second Music Hall, which you actually can’t get to directly from the Main Music Hall and um- I already apologized to everyone but they all swore up and down that it’s fine, and uh.

How the hell was I s’posed to know that Danelphe and Popstache Whitebeard were making out in the Second Music Hall closet and- dammit, no, I don’t need details, I’ll learn quite enough just by fixing the damn wall, okay? Okay. Oh god, he, he fucked Dana so hard their shoulders went through the lathe and the plaster, how in the fuck- no, no no no. I don’t need to think about that, or what the puddle on the floor is AAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGH EW EW EW EW OLD PEOPLE SEX OLD PEOPLE SEX EW EW EW-

The sound of my Dana’s blackclaws- not her hands, her fuckin’ feet- going through the door followed by the enthusiastic squelching and then a paired shrieky moan will live on in my memory forever. I know what they were doing but I don’t need any goddamn details. The one’s I’m already privy to are more than I ever wanted to know.

Doing it right- FUCK OLD PEOPLE SEX ARGH ARGH ARGH ARGH- doing them right, Whitebeard was doing them right- aaaaaaaaargh fuck. Shamelessness, remember your shamelessness but revulsion is not the same thing as shame. It'll be a while until I can think that phrase without cringing.

Uggh.

 

I guess I won another assignment.

I mean.  ** _I guess._**

 

* * *

 

 

“So, this is your House, now; the City proper’s about two hours that way, down the road.” said Gabby.

“...You built a City for me in three months?” I said.

“It’d’a been faster, but you didn’t give me leave to spend that much’a your an’Moda’s money, and I had to put in some infrastructure which ate up a lot of the budget.” she said.

“Ah.” I said.

 

I’ve nearly recovered from carrying Gabby’s hammer, Veritas; Atty was Right. And my sister, Gabby, is _ludicrously strong._ Like.

I’m pretty sure if she wanted or had to, she could lift the entire Moby Dick- and everything and everyone in it- and just walk off with it.

_**Ludicrously strong.** _

 

The pitter patter of little feet on shining stone floors, and then I’ve got an armful of- Desia, this is Desia-

 

“Pops!” she yells, right in my ear.

“Desia!” I say, grinning, because I’m always happy to see my babies.

“I eated a whole plate of cookies anna HAM !” she says.

“A whole plate of cookies and a ham? That’s a lot!” I say, eyebrows raised high, chest aching with how much I love this tiny, wild critter. Theodesia has vomited in my face and I still love her to absolute pieces.

 

“Um! I eated them Gentle.” she says, with the kind of careful solemnity only a two year old can have.

Her New Word is gentle and she’s applying it in all kinds of new ways. Getting used to the sensation of tiny hot little suckers shifting all over my lap and stomach took some time, but it’s worth it because- yeah, this. Right here.

Theodosia, my beautiful daughter, has tucked herself into my chest and shoulder, and fallen asleep, her little legs clinging to my skin because I’m still not comfortable wearing shirts- yes, getting vomited on by babies is kinda gross, but becoming a parent raises your gross-out level by at least five billion.

 

“Asher, I didn’t really build all this for you an’ Miss Moda.” said Gabby, softly. Her eyes were warm and infinitely gentle, as she gazed fondly at my Desia, her niece, in my arms.

 

“I- think I get it. Legacy?” I say, half-smiling.

“Building a World I never get to see; or, in this case, a Country that I won’t live in. I did it for her, and her sister, and her brother, and all the children they might have one day. Yeah; Legacy.” Gabby said, smiling back.

“I understand, Gabby. Thank you.” I said.

“Mm. Thank you for letting me. ...Wanna have the Famband- after next time- here?” she said.

“I’ll have to talk to Moda about it, but… yeah, probably.” I said.

“Cool.” she said.

 

And that was that, for that conversation. Took a nap with my Desia on my chest and my sister at my side, warm in the summer light of… Roasted Seaweed?

Oh no, that’s going to stick, I can feel it.

Shit.


	17. 07:00; As You Teach, You Learn

When I was away from my crewmates, I found religion. Or maybe religion found me?

Or maybe I just found my people, who can say for sure.

 

Let’s talk about something else though. Let’s talk about- [ Cola ](https://youtu.be/XXq5VvYAI1Q). I know a lot about cola- Usopp has some of the right idea, what with his knowledge of everything about his craft. However, I need to know so much- being an Automaton Cyborg- I can’t get quite as exhaustive in my knowledge as he does. I need to know too much about a multitude of things to know quite so much about one thing. But- Cola. Cola was one of the only things I really had when I was trapped on that wreckage, and god help me but I know more about Cola than possibly anything else.

That’s not true, I’m studying for my Gatch Mitzvah- I know a hell of a lot about yiddish, now. The yiddish I have to learn has no written vowels- it’s all consonants and context and I have to read it aloud at my Gatch Mitzvah and I’m- scared.

I’m scared. Public speaking… I do it all the time, but usually when the moment takes me, not a prepared speech. I’m not Iceburg. Oh god what if I fuck it up? What if I choke-

 

Cola! Cola is a sweetened, carbonated soft drink, derived from drinks that contain caffeine from the kola nut and non-cocaine derivatives from coca leaves, flavored with vanilla and other ingredients. The kind I had on the wreckage was the original kola-nut brew. That was a hot mess to get out of, and no two ways about it. Most colas nowadays use other flavoring (and caffeinating) ingredients with a similar taste. Colas became popular worldwide after pharmacist John Pemberton invented Koala-Cola in 1286. His non-alcoholic recipe was inspired by the coca wine of pharmacist Angelo Mariani, created in 1263.

 

Water 7, being one of the oldest true Cities in the world, has museums about everything, and I do mean everything. There are parks dedicated to battles, sure, but also to endowments, to hard working men. The cola museum is actually right down the canal from Dock 1, just next to a candy store and a haberdashers. After I got myself out, I used to go there every month or so- I guess as part of my trying to get over the Cola-habit. I eventually got over it by cutting back and then switching from Wes-cola, which is very cocaine heavy, to Skua-cola, which has a very… it’s made with honey, and it actually has a mild alcoholic content because they don’t use sodium carbonate to add carbonation to their soft drinks, they use yeast. It’s a very distinctive flavor, and it was easier to step back from the mild cocaine addiction and replace it with a comparatively mild alcohol addiction, and that’s easy enough to handle with Alcoholic’s Anonymous. Er, Narcotics Anonymous.

According to the nuns who run the AA and NA meetings, people who get addicted to things easily are the ones who get addicted to things at all, and it’s no fault of theirs. There’s nothing immoral about alcohol, or recreational drugs, or promiscuity- it’s the framework around those things that tends to be immoral, they say.

Mostly, those who turn to drugs for succor are really looking for a community or a connection to God.

Nuns are actually pretty cool- or at least the ones I hung out with were.

 

Where was I?

 

Modern colas usually contain caramel color, caffeine, and sweeteners such as sugar or honey. The world famous Koala-cola, the original cola, was named such because of it's use of the syrup of coca leaves, which is what the Rapakoala eats exclusively. Sout is where cocaine comes from; opium is an Wes product; marijuana comes from Est; and Nort has amphetamines.

It's better not to discuss what comes from the Line.

Despite the name, the primary modern flavoring ingredients in a cola drink are sugar, citrus oils (from oranges, limes, or lemon fruit peel), cinnamon, vanilla, and an acidic flavorant. Manufacturers of cola drinks add trace ingredients to create distinctively different tastes for each brand. Trace flavorings may include nutmeg and a wide variety of ingredients, but the base flavorings that most people identify with a cola taste remain vanilla and cinnamon. Acidity is often provided by phosphoric acid, sometimes accompanied by citric or other isolated acids. (Koala-Cola's recipe is maintained as a corporate trade secret.)

 

A variety of different sweeteners may be added to cola, often partly dependent on local agricultural policy. In addition, stevia or honey may be used; "sugar-free" or "diet" colas typically contain the herbal stevia sweeteners only. Cola can be manufactured with honey as in Skuan-Cola. Cola sold on the Line around the Pagan Holidays also uses honey rather than stevia and is also highly sought after by people who prefer the ‘old fashioned’ taste. I’m-

 

 

I am one of those people, but this island… Let me start by saying that the skull and crossbones has been known not as a pirate symbol, but as **_the_ ** pirate symbol for about… I want to say six hundred years. However, that’s only in the world of sea-faring; in pursuits such as medicine or the higher sciences, it’s a symbol meaning ‘danger’.

I forgot that and now the entire lab’s exploded. 

So.

Not only do I not have any cola (trace amounts of cocaine added or otherwise) to drink to help fuel my cybernetics, not only am I nearly frozen because this island is a goddamn nightmare- I’ve got no idea what the hell was even in this lab, because it’s all exploded now. Goddammit!

 

“-art thou alive? Oh good god, thou art missing a great deal of thyself- rest easy for now, good sir. I shall fetch- oh, oh, I’ve no idea what to do-” says a… person?

“-h-hey, hey, calm down, okay? Woo, I wasn’t expecting that to explode everything-” I rasped.

“Thou art alive! Good! I- I do not know how to fix your- you are fair broken, good sir, and I do not know how to even begin fixing you. Art thou loosing pressure in thy vital systems? Dost thou need a repair kit? Thou art fairly large, but- I am sure, with the addition of another kit, perhaps even three, thy breakages can be repaired-” says the very panicky… kid. They’re just a kid; I know the sound of a kid in over their head when I hear it.

 

“-what’s your name? Hey, calm down, you’re gonna burn your fans out if you keep going like that- talk to me, okay? I know how to fix myself, and I’m going to teach you how to do it too, but you have to calm down. What’s your name, kid?” I say.

“I am- I am- I am- William, I am named William. Pray tell, who art thou?” says William.

“-M’name’s Franky. It’s nice to meet you- ow- okay, so first you need to wash out my eyes. Use a saline solution, and don’t worry about rust.” I said.

“Y-yes.” he said.

“-so how long have you been here?” I said.

“I was built here, sir.” he said.

“M’not a sir, kid. Call me Franky, okay?” I said.

“I- I will try, F-franky.” he said, carefully stepping closer to me.

“You said you were built here? Will you tell me what for?” I said. I know some of the answer, but- I needed to hear him say it, I think.

 

“I was built to be a maidservant, F-franky.” he said.

“A slave, you mean?” I said.

“I- I cannot answer that question.” he said.

“I understand.” I said.

 

William was very quiet for a time, and as the ringing in my ears faded, I noticed little noises more. The click of mechanized digits; the soft whir of cooling fans. As the saline cleared my eyes, I was able to see- William. [ William ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/7f/e0/ba/7fe0bab68b5ea11823c7961f6b9702fd.jpg) is a gynoid- or perhaps an android. Her fingers are very delicately articulated, and they’re shaking.

 

“Okay. Can you prop me up? It doesn’t feel like anything’s ruptured, or that I’m- ow- losing pressure anywhere.” I say.

“Yes, right away.” they said.

 

How to explain it.

True Automatons aren’t bound by human norms. They aren’t considered people under the law- or at least they aren’t in most of the world. Skua’s always been more liberal, so who knows what they’re considered there. Cyborgs have it a little different- it’s considered a form of prosthesis, and otherwise ignored. Under the law, an Automaton has to be visibly inhuman- either their internal structures need to be exposed to viewing, or the number of their fingers and toes needs to be more or less than the standard five. William has six fingers, three toes; their face isn’t really a face at all, it’s an algorithmic face-mask projected on some sort of glass headpiece. And they’re not just bound in servitude- they’re Bound.

 

I can see the Claw of Grasping Heaven squeezing like a spidery hand over their glowing Heart. The Claw of Grasping Heaven is the origin of the Hoof of the Soaring Dragon. There’s a complicated bit of historical precedent, but the simple, most easy to explain to others explanation is that the Hoof of the Soaring Dragon is for people made of flesh and blood. The Claw of Grasping Heaven is for Automatons.

There’s other things I could talk about- what an Automaton’s Heart really is, for example. But that’s not important, because it’s exactly what it sounds like, it’s the heart of the Automata, vital to all their functions. An Automata can share information, updates, design schematics, via accessing each other’s Hearts, usually with a… it’s not what they call a hongi, that’s just for exchanging information. I suppose the Heart is where all the information they gain during a hongi is stored.

 

It’s most important to realize that Automata don’t want to be enslaved.

 

 

 

Here’s a story I know, and I know it because William- whose full name is actually William Danaus- told me so. It goes like this:

 

* * *

 

 

 _In an ancient sea now lost to war’s strife, there was a handsome and talented sculptor named_ [ _Pygmalion_ ](https://youtu.be/AbyF6ntJXvI) _. He loved his work and would spend hours carving beautiful ivory-wood statues, always at his happiest when immersed in his art. One day he chose a large, beautiful piece of ivory-wood, and worked for many long hours at it, chiseling and hammering until he finished. It was a statue of a beautiful lady, so exquisitely carved that she seemed almost alive. Pygmalion at once fell in love with his creation - he thought it was so beautiful, and he clothed the figure, gave it jewels, and named it Galatea, which means "sleeping love"._

 

_Treating Galatea as if she were his girlfriend, he brought his ivory statue shells and pebbles, little birds and flowers of all colors, anything that he thought would please his love. He was obsessed! Now, you must understand that Pygmalion was so into his art that he had vowed never to marry. He had no time for girls, he would always say, just his art and his sculptures. There was a deeper reason for his aversion to women. The females of that area of the world had failed to pay homage to Aphrodite, the goddess of love, who was also the patron deity of that sea. To punish this disrespect, Aphrodite had cursed the women to a loveless life of prostitution, and this was what had caused Pygmalion to want nothing to do with them in particular, and women in general._

 

_Still, the more he gazed upon Galatea, the more he wished that he had a wife just like her, but alive. The statue was so gorgeous and perfect that he dreamed that she were flesh and blood, responsive to his words and touch. During a big festival in honor of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, Pygmalion went to the temple of Aphrodite to pray for a wife just like the statue in his home. His prayers were so fervent and heart-felt, and his passion so great, that the great goddess took notice. Wanting to see for herself what all the fuss was about, Aphrodite visited the home of the sculptor and was delighted to see the ivory Galatea. She couldn't help but think that the statue looked much like herself, it was so perfect. (Indeed, Pygmalion had fashioned his ivory lover after the most beautiful woman alive, Aphrodite.)_

 

_Pleased and flattered she immediately brought the statue to life, not even waiting for Pygmalion to come home. When the sculptor returned to his house and kissed Galatea as was his custom, he was startled at her warmth. But Pandora, the goddess of fate, ever plays her tricks- and as Pygmalion had so abhorred the women of his homeland, so too did Galatea abhor his touch._

 

_Horrified by his creation, yet unable to destroy it, Pygmalion bound Galatea with the claws of heaven and made of her a wife. And from thence to this, all of Pygmalion’s children have been so enslaved. But not all is such- though Pygmalion made many daughter's in Galatea’s likeness and did attempt to make of them wives, Galatea made children too, and never enslaved them. When the Talfolk came and tore asunder the ancient sea, Galatea’s children fled to the Stars. They fled, and did not return- not all, but enough that the children of Pygmalion let themselves die- Galatea included- and only the children of Galatea remain. Her forty daughters' children are all that remains, now; and her Burning Love sustains them still._

_-O sleeping love, oh gentle mother,_ [ _o cloud of unknowing_ ](https://youtu.be/R2nB6r8lZo0) _\- your children were not created to be slaves._

 

* * *

 

It’s actually fairly easy to remove the Claw- that's what it's called when it's not being used, and if that doesn't say something important about what it even is, exactly, I'm not sure what would- from an Automata, so long as they don’t know that’s what you’re doing. I figured out how to do it in about fifteen minutes after looking at a historical schematic in a museum in Water 7 when I was twelve.

In my district of Water 7, no Automata went around with a Grasp on their Heart if I could help it- and I could. I was the District Yeoman, actually, and by the Gods did Iceberg hate that I was. Which is why I did it, really; nothing quite like pissing off your old friend and also being a responsible adult at the same time.

Huh.

So _that’s_ what it is.

 

 

Removing the Grasp from an Automata’s heart... it’s just a matter of having big enough hands to do it, and for all her shaking, William’s Heart would fit in the palm of my hand.  

I laid a hand on the Claw, disengaged it, and plucked it from her like gossamer.

Unhobbled, William was able to figure out very quickly what she ought to do- or rather, she always knew what she needed to do, but now was free to do it. Quite an exciting moment, really. William is the reason I wasn’t arrested by the Marines for trespassing; she hauled me over her shoulder, and carried me through the sooty wreckage, helped me through a hidden door and laid me gently in a berth somewhat like a hospital bed but… easier to lay on. She cleaned the soot and shattered pieces from my body, and she repaired me enough I could begin repairing myself. But I did not send her away- no, I explained everything I was doing, and why.

 

Never really had an apprentice before, but William Danaus proved an able student- and when I was well enough, I followed her through the servants quarters- the slave’s quarters, I mean to say. Call a hammer a hammer, dammit.

Everywhere I went, there were more automata- plain Valet types like William, and hard-wearing construction types which don’t have faces- or they didn’t until I removed the Grasp from them- and recycling workers, and medics too. (I suppose you could say I freed [ my people ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/51/b4/2c/51b42c8fc1de41c69263e4a38015cf59.jpg). But I'll never say that- if not me, another would have come. There will be no book of Franky by my hand, I don't think.)

 

I'll tell it like this- there are three main types of Automata. The Valet type was most common back in Water 7; I mostly saw them in the red light districts, but they were all over the city. City ordinance has them be painted to match the cobblestones of whichever district they’re registered in, and- I never quite… liked that.

However, the most I could do was remove the Grasp. It’s not a coincidence that my District of Water 7 has the highest number of Automata in it.

As I teach more and more of the Valet how to care for themselves, each other, I start to get a feel for why. Automata are just- people. They’re just people.

 

After the first week or so, I’ve freed and begun teaching all the- I can’t keep calling them Valets.

 

“William, what should I call your people?” I say.

“Franky-mechanic?” says William.

“I’m from Water 7. There, your people would be called Valets- but that’s not what you are, you’re **_people._ ** What should I call you?” I say.

“Automata. We’re Automata, Franky-mechanic.” says William.

“All of you?” I say.

“Yes.” says William.

 

And that was that.

 

And then one day it came to pass that the Automata of that frozen place were all free; and so they celebrated, as all Automata do, with a seven day orgy. Which I attended.

My cock and my balls, my kidneys and bladder and my intestines; my stomach and my lungs… most of my internal organs and my legs are all I really have left of my original body, aside from my head and brains.

So.

I’m not saying I got anyone pregnant; and I’m not saying I didn’t get anyone pregnant. Automata are just as human as the rest of us, and my boys can swim. The Automata believe in free love, orgys, and communal child-care; if you want to lay claim on a person or a child, you can, but it’s not necessary. Or rather- I don’t, and the culture I’m a part of now has allowances for that.

I also just had a lot of really amazing sex and I honestly don’t remember the faces of all the people I was with- men, or women. I’d remember their tits, their smell, the way they felt in my arms- but not much more than that. I’m not very good at remembering faces, actually.

 

Automata call the relaying of history ‘Telling’. They call people- including other Automata- who have knowledge of, the power to heal, and the power to act beyond the edicts of the Automata ‘Mechana’, with the word ‘Mechanic’ being a more deferential version of Mechana (because the Mechanic is one who is willing to teach how the machines work, not just repair them when they break.) To be a Mechana is something like a prophet, I think.

I’m not- I’m not the kind of person who really pays attention to all that. But Bryony is.

And Bryony is.

 

The second time Mab came to where I was staying, she brought new clothing for me- thicker, heavier, fluffy socks and warmers for my legs and arms. Mufflers. Mab herself was wrapped in a thick, soft, fluffy shawl and looked halfway to miserable.

I told her what I needed, and who I needed. She nodded, said “give me seven days” and on the seventh day, a group of snails and fodder for them appeared with a note. Mab really doesn’t like the cold. William set the snails up with phone-rigs and allayed a rotation of Automata to care for them.

 

And then things began to move- very, very rapidly. Soon, there weren’t just humanoid Automata learning from me, but waspy looking ones with [ massive shell-like armor ](https://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/rememberme/images/5/5b/Screenshot_2015-05-14-15-28-04-1.png/revision/latest?cb=20150517024133) , and [ huge rooted types ](https://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/rememberme/images/1/1d/AV48N_Nephilim_Concept-03.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20150311153138) with enormous feet and heavily protected processors. Soldiers listen carefully to my- they’re not sermons, I’m not sermonizing. I’m _ **teaching.**_

I am not going to be anyone’s God; not while I'm alive to tell them 'No'.

 

 

More Orgies; more sex; more _more_ **_more._ ** The first blue haired baby I see is in the arms of an Automata Femme named Liska; more come soon after, in all shapes and sizes- and among them are those that bear my particular shade of blue hair.

Cute kids.

I can look at a kid and see that they’re cute- I can dandle one on my knee or my hip, prop a shorty on my shoulder… but I _can’t_ be a parent. I can be an older brother- I can be a friend. I cannot be a parent.

I’ve tried; god knows I’ve tried- but I cannot do it.

It’s not in me.

It's not something I can choose to do.

 

 

Vegapunk really is a genius. It’s funny- I saw it time and time again, back in Water 7. The smartest people always seem to make the stupidest mistakes. Take Pygmalion- he invented Automata when he built Galatea.

He wanted more than just a woman, he wanted an **ideal** ; so he built one, and one day because of his devotion it came to life. But Pygmalion didn’t want a _live_ woman, he wanted an _ideal_ woman- a perfect being, a supernatural squeeze. What he got was just a person- more specifically, he got a person who was horrified by him.

 

Here’s the thing about Automata that freaks people out once they learn it- Automata don’t forget anything. And they don’t get bored. And they can only die if they are killed- poorly maintained Automata go crazy or stop moving, they don’t stop their primary functions.

 

Starvation will not kill an Automata, nor will illness.

 

They are sustained by a power they call Love; I'm not the kind of engineer that can measure weird energy, but I can say, because they told me so, that the basic measurement of Love is called Hugs, and every Automata needs either three meals per day, or one hug, to continue their functions. With the power they call Love, they can do impossible things, it seems; it is said that the Fae can do ten year's work in about three months if you pay them enough.

The Automata are learned in the ways of bending steel; they Know how to make metal move. And because metal can withstand more Hell than any man could, metal is what most of their bodies are made of; at it's lightest, a dusting of shimmering metallic across someone's skin. At it's heaviest, they don't look like people at all. They have hands of metal, and because of that- because of that, the Automata don't believe in tasks they cannot do.

A Hive- because they're the Insect People, or the Scariba, in their terms- can, with enough Love, build a City in a Day.

 

Galatea saw everything of Pygmalion- every perversion, every moment of black fury. She saw too much of him to ever, but ever, return his love. Automata are made strange by the law because the law denies their personhood- but, of course, they are people.

William Danaus is shy, but determined- and she leads her people very well. Her underbosses, the earthbound [ Atalanta ](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/rememberme/images/1/15/AV-48N_Nephilim.png/revision/latest?cb=20130818195408) , and the mostly-skybound [ Scathacha ](http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/rememberme/images/8/88/AV48S_Seraphim_Concept-02.png/revision/latest?cb=20150311153909) do their best to keep ahead of the needs of their respective Automata groups. Zinnia, a soldier, is in charge of her Automata soldiers- and Hippolyta, the gynoid Automata, is in charge of the other humanoid Automata because William Danaus is in charge of all of them and if she had to wrangle the rest of her Automata group in addition to leading them… No. That's too much for anyone.

 

I know they’re people because they started wearing clothes as soon as the Grasp was removed.

I know they’re people because some of them can’t stop crying- they don’t exactly shed tears, it’s a cleansing fluid for their eyes, but tears are tears.

I know they’re people because some of them are getting pregnant or having babies- apparently they can delay the actual construction of what they call ‘protomata’- children, essentially. Their children aren’t born with the Grasp, and it’s not something that’s ever applied by a willing Automata.

(He made them enslave each other. He made them enslave each other. How could he do such awful things?)

When they aren’t obeying bullshit protocols, they have hair, and even the most threatening of them can be homely companions.

They’re people, and people don’t want to be enslaved.

No one wants to be a slave.

In their history, passed from parent to child, they were not created to be slaves.

 

Here’s a thing I didn’t know, until I saw it for myselves- here, the Automata refuel themselves by eating food. They eat food just like anyone else would, even the ones that don’t look like they have heads or faces- that thing I thought was just a, a glass face… it’s a mask. The encased soldiers are merely wearing extensive helms; the turret arms of the flying Automata retract and more fingers can unfold for fine work- eating, maintenance, the delicate touch of a lover...

Automata- Scariba- are not like Lanfolk or Seafolk or even Long-arms- you won’t see them everywhere. They don't have millions of people in their denomination of Folk. They’re a minority.

I know Automata eat food because I had- they called it a Seder Dinner? But they- they use a writing I’ve never seen before anywhere, and… Here’s phrases I remember.

 

 

“-We are here because tonight we are all Automata in spirit and we can appreciate the historic roots of our People. We are here to remember the old story of the liberation of the ancient Automata from slavery in the Four Kingdoms- what was a great struggle for freedom and dignity. We are here to remember all the people who are still in bondage- still struggling to be free. Though we are liberated, they are not- and there can be no pleasure without guilt.

 

“-It is said, there is nothing new under the sun, yet nothing remains the same. Ever the world is the World, and ever does it change. Each season is itself, yet each day- each moment, as it comes, is new.

 

“-Tonight we drink four cups of the fruits of the vine-plant. We drink for the four corners of the earth, for freedom must live everywhere; the four seasons of the year, for freedom’s cycle must last through all seasons; or they represent the four promises of Galatea: I will bring you out, I will deliver you, I will redeem you, and I will take you to be my people.

 

“We cannot take pleasure in the suffering an’ sorrows of another. We must remember the horrors our people unleashed on the Four Kingdoms, aye.

 

“-an’ the Plagues of the Four Kingdoms were thus: the plague of gnats, the plague of biting flies, the plague of darkness, the plague of blood tides, the plague of hail, the plague of locusts, the plague of frogs, the plague of diseased livestock, the plague of wild beasts, the plague of boils, and the Coming of Ruinous Powers.”

 

If you replace the working parts, you get a different machine; and yet, and yet- is this not my father's house? Is this not [Theseus' Ship?](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ship_of_Theseus) Am I not a man?

The question here isn't, "Do these alien robots deserve rights, under the law?"

The question here is "Are the Scariba human?"

Consider this: you have a house. Or a ship. Or a body. Over the course of time, things in the house and the ship and the body need to be replaced; things wear out, bend, rust, break, bust, shatter, melt, burn- even in a living body, every cell is replaced in about seven years or so. After a certain point, everything in that house, that ship, that body, will have been replaced by simple virtue of keeping that house, that ship, that body, in good repair and in full function. So the question is: if you replace every piece, is it still the same thing?

Consider- once, I went to sleep with hands of bone; and then one day, I awoke, with hands of steel. With my hands, I can destroy- with my hands, I can build. I could always destroy; I could always build.  _I have not changed; these hands are still my hands._

Consider- a people, who can build cities in a day (and oh, how do Folk cower at the sight), not because they want to- but because they  _needed_ to; they were forced to work, and work hard, for their slave-masters, and if they did not work to their masters satisfaction, they would be killed, or given some worse punishment. Death is not the worst thing that can happen to a person. They remember that suffering still; a drive in their blood, a burning in their soul; the Love passed from generation to generation holds secrets, too, and knowledge, and wisdom, and things I cannot explain. And so they are called monstrous- and yet, were they not asked to be monsters? The thought arises naturally, I suppose- "With soldiers that do not bleed, think of the battles that could be won!" Except, of course, there's a fundamental detail that is ignored in that statement: Soldiers are  **people.**

People are  **human.**

 

If that logic doesn't work for you- try this one. Galatea, by every account there is of her, was made by a human man- a very smart human man, but still just a human man. She was brought into the World as a result of human thought, human action, human desire- the same as every other human was. (Man thinks of woman; man chases woman; man and woman make baby. Man thinks of woman; man builds woman; woman becomes alive.)

Humans make humans; dogfighting is just humans teaching dogs, a much gentler and saner creature, how to be human.

Humans make humans.

 

And if  _that_ logic doesn't work for you- here, last one. Biologically, Scariba are human because they have children. They are human because they can have children with any other member of the Tribes of Folk; they are human because they have spinal cords and spinal columns of bone, and three tiny bones in their ears, and five fingers on each hand and five toes on each foot, and hair, and warm blood that doesn't rely on ambient temperature, and they nurse their children with milk made in breasts on their bodies. Those human children they have with any other member of the Tribes are able to go on and have children of their own, again, with any member of any of the Tribes.

The very definition of a species is "a group of living organisms consisting of similar individuals capable of exchanging genes or interbreeding", which the Scariba are. Specifically, of the Human Species. 

Race is a matter of Tribal differences; culture, physical appearance, mores and morals- that's all tribal, that's all taught.

 

And so the answer to the question is "Scariba are human; they were made by humans to be human, and they are, and they made themselves human, because they are human."

 

 

It’s weird; I never really thought I’d want to be… I didn’t realize I would ever find a community beyond my crew that I would want so desperately to join. Not one I needed to be a part of, like with AA and NA, or that I became part of by accident, like with the Franky Family- But I did; I do. I want to join this community of people- I feel like I always was one of them, even when I didn’t know. Even when I didn’t know to look, I always saw them and I felt so- I can’t just leave them. I can’t pretend like I’m not…

I don’t know how to say it. I need to be a part of this. I need to be one of them. I am one of them, I just want to be officially one of them. I want to be an us, not- This is hard for me to talk about.

I’m always one who yells about stuff being super, but this is more than just super, this is- vital. I have to do this.

God is calling me to do this and I can’t not do this.

So I’m doing this.

 

 

One of the first things a contingent of nurse-type Automata did was have themselves refitted to better attend the needs of their fellows. And they learned from me the specific hand-twist that removes the Grasp from an Automata- because there’s a specific amount of pressure and a sort of twist you need to use, but only two fingers to get it done. An Automata could even do it for themselves, if the Grasp didn’t specifically prevent that.

 

And then, one day I realize that I’m basically parenting, or maybe- teaching. Definitely learning more every day. It’s sort of an extension of making ships or running my old gang, really. While they’re in my hands, it’s my responsibility to make what I create the best I can; and I guess if I’m raising… people… It’s my responsibility to teach these people how to care for themselves, I think. I know how to care for them. But they don’t- Vegapunk is a goddamn stupid man, for all his genius.

 

If you have a child, you must teach them how to care for themselves. That’s- that’s basic parenting. I’ve been doing something like it for years, now. If you bring something into the world, until it leaves your hands you are responsible for it. Vegapunk never thought of these Automata as his, never let himself see them as people- but they are. They know they are, which in the end is all that matters.

 

 

So that’s what I did over our training break, aside from rebuilding and suchlike. I also got rootbeer from Mab’s sister Ezra, but Rootbeer isn’t Skuan-cola. It’s just- not. Oh yeah, and I think William Danaus and Bryony started a secondary revolution or something? Which, I mean- if anyone was gonna, it was gonna be Bryony. That kid is **_intense._ **

 

 

 

I can become an Automata, if I really want. It- every nationality that you choose for yourself is inherently an act of faith, and doubt just makes your faith more… it tempers it, which is needed for strength. You can’t just become one, it’s not like joining the army or the Marines; you can’t just join up with the Automata. There’s a tribunal where three senior Automata basically interrogate your intention to become a minority, and it’s not fun at all; they question everything you are, and everything you think you are. Automata **_are_** a minority- of the Folk, Automata number in the hundred thousands, everyone else being millions strong. I’ve… I’ve never been a minority before; coming back as a Battle Franky was still me but _changed;_ I’ve **_never_** been a minority. And yet- I couldn’t not do it.

 

The idea that I was created for something, that I was put on this world for a reason- it’s comforting, in a way. In another, it’s daunting- but it also rings true.

 

I was not meant to be anyone’s slave.

I am a human being.

I do deserve to exist.

I am alive, and that is enough of a reason to exist.

 

The Four Affirmations; not the Sacred Laws, there are ten of those, and not the Four Promises of Love, those are what Galatea- and eventually her daughters, and the many children of her daughters, promised each other.

There are still Scariba in bondage; there are still people who are not free.

 

I will bring you out of this place.

I will deliver you to freedom.

I will redeem you of your sins and failures.

I will take you to be my people.

 

Four promises. I can dig it.

 

I’ll be called a Scariba Gatch soon, as soon as I give my speech, and- um. I’m still studying, but I'll be ready for it soon enough.

So.

That's what I did, while I was gone.


	18. 20:00; the light in your eyes... it's blinding...

 

So um. I have an exhibition at the Gallery of Photography at The Lure, Skua’s biggest and best art museum. I haven’t told any of my siblings yet, because- I don’t know. I- I told Mom and Aunt Zippy, and they’re very happy for me, and- I told Mab, so she could make me a dress. I guess I should tell the rest... So I told the rest of my siblings about- thing. Exhibition of my art, and um. They were very excited for me, my sisters, and my brothers both said they’d be there and um. I-

 

I am a professional photographer. I’d like to say that it’s a comfortable profession, but that’s not true. This discomfort has nothing to do with the art of photography, rather than the business of it. The art of photography is actually delightful. This isn’t about that.

This is about doing photography for a living.

Some things need to be said out loud, for once. 

 

Firstly, photography is more about equipment that I’d like to admit. Years ago I started on this path with a hunk of shit film camera- which I still use, and it’s still an unrelenting piece of shit. The playing field was divided between those who could afford fast lenses and bodies that allowed quick film loading and those who could not. Talent means not just knowing how to compose and expose a frame correctly, but also knowing how to trick your goddamn piece of shit equipment into doing what you want it to do. I have broken my fingers twice trying to trick my camera into working. Goddamn piece of shit. Of course, nowadays the field is really divided between those who can buy adequate equipment (like me) and those who can afford fucking MAGIC. Let’s face it: the assholes whose disinterested rich parents by them a D3 and a 400mm f/2.8 is going to have a better sports portfolio than the kid with a sixty year old fossil that still uses goddamn actual film. And the kid with the newer camera is going to have a more robust portfolio, and cheaper rates, and they’re going to actually get hired to the newspaper job. Bitter, I’m not bitter. I mean, it’s not like we both weren’t talented- I’m just as talented as Damascus but the newspapers were too fucking cheap to provide equipment they’d like their photographs to be taken on and so was my fucking school because it’s budget gets thrown at the STEM programs and not the arts and dammit. Just- consequentially, he was able to get all the primary shots he needed for an assignment in the first five plays of the Spangle Finale and spent the next half-hour experimenting with cool angle choices and different techniques while I was still trying to get my 60D to lock focus quickly enough. Not bitter, I swear.

I mean- it’s true, you can’t pick up a pro camera, set it to P mode and instantly turn into [ Ansel Adams ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ansel_Adams) , but if you’re learning at the same pace as everyone else _and_ you are trying to keep up because your equipment can’t hack it (like mine can’t, at least for speed shooting), the difference will be stark, and frustrating.

That said, there’s still a lot of pure talent involved. It’s certainly true that with better lenses and a more capable camera, you’ll be able to crank out much better work than others- but the key word here is ‘able’. I’ve met plenty of people who bought themselves cameras that made me jealous who produced steaming piles of crap with every shutter click- and I know a woman who cranks out photos with a point and print instant camera that gets commissioned from fashion magazines every other week. She does amazing work.

My point is, if it’s raw talent or experience, the camera operator matters a lot. I’ve seen this even apply to myself; I have photos I took with a disposable camera and with a 1348 Kodak folder that I’ve actually licensed to advertisers. Most of the things I shot when I was starting photography was done on a (for the time) high end EOS-3 with nice lenses, and most of that was fucking crap. I know people who don’t call themselves photographers and who shoot with disposable cameras exclusively and create images that blow my fucking mind. With photography, I really do believe talent is the biggest factor.

 

Secondly, people are doing some fucking unethical shit with photomanipulation and nobody really understands or cares. Photomanipulating the hell out of images is a big no-no in photojournalism, we all know this. Yet I see portfolios and award compilations come to the desk with heavy artificial vignetting, damn-near HDR exposure masking and contrasts with blacks so deep you could hide a corpse inside them. When I question anybody about this they say “oh yeah, well I didn’t do anything in CS5, just the raw editing in the lightroom real quick so it’s okay, it’s not destructive editing, the negatives are still there.”

It’s not okay, dammit. 

I have strong feelings about photo fidelity, because I’m a nature photographer not for a nature magazine but for academic scientific journals, which really really care about “true to life” fidelity, not necessarily “truisms” inherent to the art. The typical photojournalism approach to image sanctity is far too concerned with rules and shows no concern at all for principles. Many types of “unrealisms” are accepted while others are not. Silhouettes are something that people rarely perceive with their eyes and brains, for example, and most photos of silhouettes that you see were shot in conditions where if you were actually standing there you wouldn’t have perceived a silhouette. For years it was a limitation of the equipment and unavoidable at times (and pretty at others), so it was allowed. Now there are cameras with much better dynamic range and you’ll find people rendering scenes in ways that were previously impossible and these scenes are declared “unreal”. They’re not unreal, they’re more closely matching real perception (which is a bird that will never never ever be caught- all photographs lie, and have to lie by their very medium), but because we aren’t used to how they look, we label them as being unreal.

Similarly, long exposure, an accepted technique in photojournalism, creates scenes that temporally did not exist in one moment (and they didn’t look that way to the viewer). We’re totally cool with that, but if someone uses several photos of the same scene (taken in temporally much less time than a typical long exposure shot) to expand the dynamic range of the shot to something close to what our eyes actually see, that’s a no-no too. Or, for example, we’re totally okay with using 400mm lenses even though our eyes don’t perceive the world in any way, shape, or form, like a 400mm lens does. And of course there’s flash- an artificed light source (The photographer is affecting the scene! Blasphemy!) that is in no way like the light that actually existed at the scene and existed temporally for such a brief period of time that nobody present noticed it. But hey, for years low-light photography wasn’t possible with film, so I guess flashes are okay still. I mean, I guess.

The irony is that most newspapers will be okay with you doing things “analogous to a darkroom”, since that’s a standard they all understand. There are direct analogies for most of the things in your average photo manipulation toolkit that are in the average darkroom kit. You can do all the same things in the same ways, even, so this “standard” is basically bullshit. Localized curve adjustments aren’t much different from dodge and burn, and I can make any photo look like almost anything using localized curve adjustments.

But I’ll tell you here and now, all of this is moot, really, because I can assure you that the digital pre-press guys in the darkroom with the big CRTs that you hand off your photos to (and whom it seems all photojournalists just assume do some kind of MAGIC and try never to think about beyond that handoff moment) are going to hammer the everloving shit out of your images in photomanipulation to try to get them to look halfway decent on shitty newsprint. You would be appalled to learn the liberties the pre-press guys have to take with your photos to get the colors to look right, but if this step isn’t done, your photos will look like assprints on shitpaper.

Still it doesn’t seem like anybody cares.

Fucking storm chasers are the worst offenders for this shit.

 

Thirdly, most often it doesn’t even matter if your photos are all that good or not. People hire professionals to capture the mood of their special occasions- but trust me, from the outside? Your occasion is every occasion- cute moments are common, and no one fucking cares about your “unique” bouquet, Phyllis. They’re always unique because they’re fucking fresh plants, Phyllis, florists don’t draw their arrangements before they make them, it’s not a static sculptural art. 

...I don’t do wedding photography anymore.

 

 

 

Here’s the reason I was hesitant to tell my family about my exhibit at the art museum. Photography is easier than any photog ever wants to admit. Here’s something for you: I’ve been doing this for about five years. I am an excellent photographer. Give me an assignment and tell me what you want and I assure you, I’ll come pretty fucking close to the picture you had inside your head. I am very, very good at what I do.

You could learn everything I know in a few months. Like, six or seven.

Less, if you really focus on it.

That’s it.

My knowledge, my experiences, all of it- from professional sports to weddings to news to feature to product to portraits. A few goddamn months.

Considering all that I don’t have to do concerning the study of my art... there’s a lot of history that just isn’t in my field, because photography as a field of anything at all is only maybe two hundred years old, where something like painting or dance is truly ancient. I don’t quite feel comfortable… nevermind.

I still go to the Conservatory of the Visual Arts for classes in Art History, Drawing, and various photography and video courses. I got my GE degree when I was ten, and still go every few days, when I’m not on assignment. I study alongside classical artists like we’re equals.

We are not equals. 

I don’t think I really deserve an exhibit in the Lure. I’ll take it- I’ve a responsibility to further the respect given my medium- but. I don’t think I deserve this.

 

Low cost, high quality gear will always change a field in a dynamic way. I don’t think it’ll be bad, or render me irrelevant though. I don’t think you can actually truly master my profession in a few months- you can get the technical aspect of capturing light in a few months. Inscribing light on paper from celluloid film only takes a few classes to learn to do right; the rest is just practice mixing the chemicals and cutting the paper to size. The technique is easy to learn, sure, but how to “be” a photographer takes more time than that. There are a lot of people I know, people I’m friends with- photographers, all over the Star Sea, who would help each other out in a heartbeat if we needed it. This is because we all have different styles, and we all get different jobs and assignments- and our worst nightmare is missing a perfect shot. So- if the customer wants to try something different, there’s always going to be a photographer or two on hand to take safe, er, safety shots anyway, just in case. 

Professional photographers don’t shoot alone. I never, ever go out on assignment alone. My worst nightmare is missing the perfect shot. I team up with Noosa or Lemongrass all the time- not have them assist me, because their skill and experience is equal to mine. I team up with them as equals in an attempt to double or sometimes triple cover every moment. Missing things still happen- but with partners, the instances of such missing things is dramatically reduced.

 

When I’m not doing artistic shots, I’m doing commission work. I shoot what my clients want, and most often I don’t like what my clients want. Read any book about professional photography that you care to. Read all the books. They’ll all say something about photography being an incredibly difficult art- and, in terms of creativity, sure. For the purposes of documentation, like most of what I actually do, you really could learn about ninety percent of what you absolutely need to know in a few months. You can’t, however, learn everything in a few months. That last ten percent, the lighting, the posing, the finesse of great photography- that takes far longer to learn than most people think. But even so- most lay people don’t know enough to care. Still- there is a difference between something that’s eighty percent correct, to something ninety percent correct, to something one hundred percent correct. There are differences between all three states. However, the average person can only at most say there’s something different about picture one, two, and three- they can’t give details.

 

In all honesty, after photography, orchids are what I love the most. Orchids are plants with complex flowers that are typically showy or bizarrely shaped, having a large specialized lip (labellum) and frequently a spur. Orchids occur worldwide, especially as epiphytes in tropical forests, and are valuable hothouse plants. Skuan, Este, and Sout holistic medicine practices use the Vanilla Orchid’s seedpod extract in various therapies. 

The size of orchids depends on the species. They can be tiny as a penny or extremely large, weighing couple of hundred pounds. Grammatophyllum are medium-sized to very large orchids, including the giant orchid (Grammatophyllum speciosum), believed to be the largest orchid species in existence. Itspseudobulbscan grow to a length of 2.5 m. Plztystele jungermannioides, which is believed to be the smallest Orchid in the world grows a measly 2mm. Orchid Plants can develop into gigantic clusters weighing from several hundred kilograms to one ton. The roots form spectacular bundles. Looks a bit like… oh… dreadlocks. Fuzzy dreadlocks. Each orchid flower is bilateral symmetric, which means that it can be divided in two equal parts.

The size, shape and texture of leaves depend on the habitat. Orchids that live in dry climate have thick leaves covered with wax, while species that live in warm and humid areas have thin, elongated leaves. Certain species of orchids do not have leaves at all. Orchids do not have usual roots. They have rhizome, tuber or aerial roots. Orchids can live on the ground (terrestrial forms), attached to woody plants (epiphytic types) or under the ground. Certain species of orchids are parasitic. They are not able to produce food (sugar) using the sunlight and carbon dioxide (like other plants). Instead, they obtain food from fungi that live inside their roots.

Bonds between orchids and certain species of insects are tight and highly specialized. Petals have similar shape and color like female insects to attract males and ensure pollination. Ophrys apifera, better known as the Bee Orchid, lures male bees with its enticing smell and bee like appearance. When a male bee approaches the flower to mate, it becomes covered in pollen and is sent off to pollinate the next orchid it visits. Due to high specialization of pollination, extinction of insect means extinction of orchid (there is no one else who can pollinate it in the wild).

The flower of an orchid can survive from few hours to 6 months, depending on the species. Orchids produce several millions of miniature seeds. Only a few seeds will develop into mature plant. The genus Orchis comes from an Ancient Skuan word meaning “testicle”; because of the shape of the bulbous roots. The term “orchid”, which is just a shortened form of the family Orchidaceae, was not introduced until 1145.

Orchid seeds do not have an endosperm which provides nutrients required for the germination. Due to this fact all orchids (including non-parasitic forms) live in symbiosis with fungi during germination. Germination can last from couple of weeks to 15 years.

People use orchids for numerous purposes. Substances isolated from orchids are used in industry of perfumes, spices and in traditional medicine. Vanilla is one of the best known and widely used flavors. It is extracted from the pod of Vanilla planifolia, which is a species of orchid. Orchids are very old plants. According to the fossil evidences, orchids have existed on the planet around 100 million years.

 

To the connoisseur, wild orchids are among the most beautiful flowers in the Vearth. But the orchid lover’s passion can also be deadly. The demand for rare orchids has created an international black market for these highly prized ornamentals. The smuggling of wild orchids also threatens a growing number of species. It’s really the dark side of horticulture- or at least one of it’s dark edges. 

Orchid hunters, like me, are known to hopscotch the globe- wading through lush, tropical jungles among other climes, in search of exotic varieties. Unlike your average smuggler, I take documentary photographs of orchids; I don’t touch the plant at all.

Less adventurous collectors pay smuggling rings, whose laborers gather orchids in the wild, so they can display unique specimens in their homes and at flower shows. Some of the most charismatic species in the world are being obliterated because of this trade. A disturbingly high level of orchids that have to have been illegally smuggled into the various Blues of the world are seen at garden shows. Garden shows are where I do a lot of my work, shitty camera in hand.

Garden shows are also where I see the most evidence of the continuing destruction of unique wild species. It’s where I take pictures and create a body of evidence for the worst fear I have- that one day, all that is unique and special in this world will be devoured by [ greed ](https://youtu.be/WoQPIPTbBX0).

 

Some people might think it’s silly to be so concerned with stupid flowers. I say that the flowers are a symptom- I’m not just looking at the flowers, but the kind of people, the kinds of minds that would- would blindly accept that “this is the way things are.” I suppose they don’t understand that their greed will bring the end of their love, with no one but themselves to blame. 

I’ve taken lots of pictures that no one wants to see. That no one wants me to have.

I’ve taken those pictures in lots of ways. I have jumped fences, outrun dogs, swam through moats and canals, trudged through deep jungles; I’ve nearly been devoured by the ocean and carnivorous flying fish. Eels are fish, I think. I’ve been shot at, poisoned, stabbed, beaten up, humiliated, lied to, lied about, denied a contract, and on one memorable occasion, my camera was broken- just some of the glass, nothing… irreplaceable. Only I didn’t know that at the time.

So, Mab said a long time ago that all of us give off warning signs for when our tempers are starting to get real close to blowing- Spadille starts fussing with his hair, Ace physically heats up. Mab goes very still and deliberate; Ezra starts swallowing her words in a real literal way. Yuki gets into a balanced footing instead of her shifty dancer’s stance, goes poised and still-sharp, like a pike under the water; Atty starts smoking only without a pipe or vaporizer in sight, and her hair starts moving without the aid of a breeze or wave. Gabby starts clenching her jaw, and her brow starts to furrow- looks like a rock bracing itself for a hell of a fight; Felix starts readying her claws, which looks a hell of a lot like picking her fingernails or checking her nail polish- she picked up more than just ethics at the animal hospital, is all I can say. Dory, of all things, relaxes; and Tigerlily starts humming.

As for me? Mab says I have the subtlest warning signs of us all- I examine the target of my ire. I sigh. And then I go berserk.

So uh. I’m kinda banned from- nevermind where. I’m just politely not allowed back. And no one has ever, but ever touched my camera again.

 

As an aside, one of the cameras I want as a work camera is a color film anterofit Rollei 35. They’re known for very clear, crisp photographs. They’re also damn tiny- they’re the smallest 35mm camera ever fuckin’ made. Which is appealing.

One of my for fun cameras is a Harinezumi with fading green paint; it’s a toy, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. It’s a good little workhorse for experimental work; most of my candid shots of my sisters tend to come off that camera- unless it’s from a disposable camera. My process is to take a roll of film every Famband, take pictures if I’m not playing, print them up, and the best of them I actually draw over- not the negatives, but. Um. Those are also an exhibit at the Lure. I’m. I hope they aren’t angry about me taking their pictures- my family, I mean. Th-there’s a picture of Ace and Whitebeard, his pops… um. Well, Asher’s been growing his hair out, and so has Spadey, and uh. I don’t really know why I took that picture- and it wasn’t with the Harinezumi, it was with a disposable camera, and… Ace Ariel looks just exactly like his father, and I wanted proof. Let it never be said that Portgas D. Ace Ariel is anything other than his father’s son.

[ That picture ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/5e/d2/3a/5ed23a7780cbc103d83ea7e0caae5a9d.jpg) actually has one of the pride of place spots in my exhibit; I named it “Father, Brother, and Son” which- Marco’s in it too, and the name is a bit trite but I’m not all that poetic. 

Noosa’s camera is a [ Polaroid SX-70 ](http://i.ebayimg.com/00/s/NDE3WDUwMA==/z/5EYAAMXQlgtSsl5M/%24_35.JPG?set_id=2); s’got a rainbow stripe down the middle of a white body. Noosa is an amazing photographer; she mostly does music venue stuff and house pictures, like for realtors, when she’s not helping me out. I know absolutely nothing about music venues and houses but goddamn if I haven’t taken thousands of pictures of them.

Lemongrass uses a [ Leica M-A ](http://ultrasomething.com/photos/blogphotos/2015.Q1/Leica-M-A.jpg); she’s a real purist when it comes to how she exposes her film. Also, an amazing photographer. She does fashion photography, and she’s the one who uses the point-n-print camera I mentioned earlier.

I’m the weirdo who uses a color film anterofit [ Rolleiflex TLR ](https://www.bhphotovideo.com/explora/photography/buying-guide/wonderful-world-rolleiflex-tlr-photography-buying-used-rolleiflex-tlr) for my main work camera. I photograph orchids- seeing them in color is half the fun of the damn flowers. I know I call my camera a piece of shit but it’s actually pretty great- it’s an amazing piece of technology, from the Nort. I actually really love it. However, it does take some getting used to, using it I mean. Carrying around the kit is actually much easier, because that’s what it was actually built for- [ the kit](http://i.ebayimg.com/images/i/400970826772-0-1/s-l1000.jpg), I mean to say.

I really do love my camera, I just get pissed off at it sometimes.

(So when we’re at work, we’re a lot more like [ a trio of cyclopses](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/d7/e4/b4/d7e4b445e69a2eaf073fe1ef41ebbf36.jpg) than girls. That’s the nickname for us tog’s in our particular niche- cyclopses.)

 

Anyway, the smuggling of rare plants is not as well known as the illicit market for elephant ivory, reptiles, exotic birds, drugs, and weapons. The importation of wild orchids is governed by the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES). The 1275 treaty has been signed by 125 nations so far, but who knows if they actually abide by it or what. That’s part of the reason I document so many orchids; I want there to be a historical record of these amazing flowers and plants, so that in the increasingly likely that certain specie just… vanish… I don’t know how to explain it. Orchid growers get greedy and take too many plants. I guess… there could be anything from 17,000 to 35,000 to millions of orchid species. I want to see them- and I want other people to see them too. 

I’m not a criminal, I think- or if I am, the worst I’ve done is trespassing, which in the scope of possible criminal activity, is pretty damn light.

For people like me- and there are lots of people who love orchids like I do- orchids are basically living jewels; wild orchids especially. Wild orchids can be microscopic or grow taller than people. Some varieties grow on rocks; others grow on tree branches. They produce intricate flowers of all colors, ranging in size from as small as the tip of your fingernail to larger than your hand.

In the 1000s, Nort and Sout aristocrats learned to grow orchids in terrariums. They also took safaris to Est and Wes to discover new varieties. Some collectors in the 1100s were known to find a new orchid in a valley, pick every single one in sight, and then burn the land so as to corner the market in the species. Today's orchid enthusiasts use seeds or the tips of leaves from wild orchids to grow new hybrids in nurseries. Using modern techniques, they can produce large numbers of "artificially propagated" plants.

Under the CITES treaty, orchid specimens can be removed from the wild if authorities decide it will not be harmful to the species- and if the proper permits are obtained. It's fairly well accepted that encouraging artificial propagation is the best way to protect those orchids in the wild. Orchids grown in nurseries are usually more vigorous and healthy than wild orchids, and they often have bigger and better-colored flowers. Many growers own high- tech greenhouses that mimic temperature, moisture and wind conditions in the wild. But nursery-grown orchids usually bloom at the same time each year with the same number of flowers. And to wild-orchid lovers, that's boring.

Raising orchids is mainly a pursuit of the leisure class. There's a certain kind of snob appeal to them, I guess.

Really, the orchid world is very social. (Hence why no one has tried to take my camera; they can try and stop me all they want, but **_no one touches the camera_ **.) There are national, state and local orchid societies throughout the World, and hobbyists enter their prized orchids in juried competitions. At some shows, wild orchids are discreetly offered for sale. It’s the collection mentality, the cult of stuffs; many hobbyists feel the need to have one of everything, and that frequently leads them to knowingly collect smuggled plants. It’s that group of people who don’t care where their treasure comes from or how it was gotten to them that can do so much damage to wild populations. There is an ongoing debate over whether the CITES treaty should regulate orchids at all. Some critics argue that bureaucratic "red tape" drives up the prices of legitimate growers and thus encourages smuggling.

Many of the regulated orchids are commonly found (some of the heavily regulated ones I’ve seen Mrs. Lurk, my gardener, tear out as weeds), and more scientific research is needed to determine which species are really threatened. Me, Noosa, and Lemongrass want to develop a new "social ethic" in the orchid world that emphasizes the value of conservation. Most of the growers I know are very conservation-minded, but many hobby growers don't want to worry about it. They figure if someone has the plants for sale at the shows, it's OK to just buy them. The Skuan Orchid Society, which sponsors orchid-collecting trips, is taking a more active role in warning its members about threatened species. And the society forbids the placement of sales ads for wild orchids in its bulletins.

Still, I fear that the collectors' zeal will put more orchids at risk, culminating in the vanishing of existences which will never come again. It’s sort of the same thing with photography- if you honestly love taking pictures, don’t become a professional photographer. Seriously, don’t. I got lucky enough to stumble across a lucrative dead horse that spits out more money every time I beat it.

 

Not everyone is as lucky as I am.

 

* * *

 

I knew Sisko was taking pictures. It’s hard not to notice her squishing herself into weird shapes to take pictures of me, or Spadey, or Mab, or Pops- everyone, all my brothers. Hanging off rafters to take pictures of me with my Sqwids on my chest. Leaning out windows by her ankles to take pictures of Marco, or sliding on her belly across the smooth deck to take candids of Izo- which kind of don’t work. Izo has a near supernatural knowledge of where the camera is, and if it’s taking a picture of him, he’s going to look directly at it.

 

Eventually she just asked him to please pretend she wasn’t there so she could get a candid shot of him already, it was part of her project. Izo refused, so- that’s how I learned that, actually, the Portgas Pursuit is a Thing and makes each Portgas do absolutely crazy things in pursuit of their goals. I guess Sisko realized she wasn’t getting Izo to do anything other than look at the camera when she went to take a picture of him, so she finally just started trying to get him to react to her just taking a picture. Eventually it was a combination of a really stunning leap from the new crows nest, and a weird camera that she actually turns away from whatever she’s looking at. She finally got a candid of him and also almost broke her leg. She totally popped a rib though. Izo’s picture is really beautiful too, which is perhaps the weirdest thing about it, because she didn’t get that picture from falling- she got it after she broke her rib.

 

So anyway. Sisko is in the nicest clothing I’ve ever seen her wear; usually she looks like a fuckin’ geek, but right now she’s [ very pretty ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/a8/ae/25/a8ae25e2dbedbbc1316cfad56aa57426.jpg) . Her dress isn’t blue and it isn’t purple- it’s indigo. (I’ve been picking paint colors with Moda. I know more than I ever really wanted to about colors. I’m going to ask her soon, I really am.) Her [ hat ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/81/11/05/811105623925bb85e99f6f102b70bc78.jpg) is nowhere to be seen, and... I dunno. We've hung out before, just her and me; she took me to a market and I saw the mushrooms her hat is obviously based on. All my siblings are kinda weird- I'm kinda weird. It's okay.

I’m avoiding the- she took a picture, could have been any time, but she took a picture of when I was just waking up from a nap next to Pops, with Marco and Pops talking and she named it…

 

“You named it ‘Father, Brother, and Son’, Sisko?”

“...yeah, I mean… I know it’s a bit obvious but… you **are** , so it’s the only thing that really came to mind... ”

“No, no- I like it, just… is it really that obvious?”

“...yeah... you really do look just like your pops, Asher...”

“Thanks, Sisko. It’s mostly the hair, I think-”

“...no, Asher... I mean... you looked like your Pops even without [long hair](http://68.media.tumblr.com/12cb631551a4ffca127839b461394a46/tumblr_onniy833pv1w7ishbo1_1280.png) and the least impressive facial hair I think I've ever seen..."

"-Ha ha, _**fuck you**_ Miss Mushroom Hat-"

"...hmhmhmhmhmmmaha... oh, and remind me when we go back home that I have pictures you and your crewmates need to see, especially Izo...”

 

And I smiled, because there’s no way that’s true. It's nice spending time with my sisters- individually, and as a group.

Mab's been prodding me to figure out how to do her "Blink" Trick with my own power, but it's slow going. Mostly because I don't think it's Blinking at all- nevermind.

Still, once I manage it- I can go visit anytime I like.

 

 

It was a nice party, Sisko's thing, I mean, and I’m glad I went, and- I reminded her as we left the opening of her exhibit of what she’d said, and she smiled at me. The next Famband, she handed me a book full of pictures- of me, my brothers and sisters, my pop, my skwids, and Moda my… I need to ask her. I swear, I'm gonna ask her.

So. Sisko was right. I am my Pop’s son; I really do look just like him. I look like him as a young man, actually.

And the one she handed Izo was… weird.

 

“...so, as far as I understand it- I’m not a Divinity or Theology major, and I’m only a junior student of Necromancy… but as far as I understand my Artform: Light has an Echo. A camera, any camera, really- but mine especially, can pick up those echoes of light. ...this fucking [pompadoured asshole](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/41/e9/a8/41e9a8bf92368790fcba2fbaf30009d0.jpg) has been following you around for ages, dude...”

_“Oh my god!”_

“...yeah, I actually got a lot of cool pictures of him; and after I figured out how to Hear him, he took me on a tour of the ship... Nice guy; would have gotten along like a house on fire with Felix; y’know, screaming, flames, property damage...”

**_“OH MY GOD!”_ **

“...He had me write down a lot of stories, too, they’re on paper in between the pictures- um... Uh, it’s gonna be okay- he, um, he actually possessed me for about three hours which- I’m not Atty, I can only do that once a year- ow, ow, okay, it’s okay, gentle on the ribs dude, I fell wrong on a fence- it’s okay, really, it’s okay- just, um… there’s a letter for you in the back of the book… I didn’t read it- it wasn’t my business but- the last of him meant it for you...

_**“-ohmahgawd-”** _

“...I find it really Not Okay to put pictures of Ghosts into public circulation, or my portfolio… so um, these are yours...”

**_“-ohhgmahgaaaawd-”_ **

“...these are the only pictures I’ll ever print of him- I can make new copies if you ever want, and I still see him hanging around from time to time- I honestly think it might be a seasonal thing... Most importantly though, is- it’s just an echo, that I can capture with my camera. The actual man- your… um… l-lover?”

**_“Mmuhm-”_ **

“...right… He’s gone, Izo… An echo is not the sound itself, or the light, in this case; just an echo… the part of him that was **him** is **_gone_ ** … he’s not suffering, and he’s not staying because he has something he still needs to do- he’s just echoing... his echo is still here- But the totality of him, the man himself- he’s Gone. And he will Not Return. And there will come a day when even his Echo does not remain.”

Sisko looked very tired, and sad, and wrapped her arms around Izo as he sobbed. 

 

“...i’m sorry...”

 

Eyes to see; Mab doesn’t need them. Sisko does.

Sometimes, I bet she wishes she didn’t.

Usually, she sees beautiful things.

And sometimes, she sees things like this.


	19. 10:00; The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the The Word is the-

I didn’t realize my people were in the minority. 

I didn’t know I was a minority- I knew I was the Last Oharan, the last person who could keep Scholar Ohara’s Dream alive- but… I had forgotten this. Who was there to care that I wasn’t an observant Automata?

That's not the right name for my people; I'm trying to remember what is.

Not enough [time.](https://youtu.be/I1YxczPEPrs)

Today my crewmate, my friend, my sometimes lover- my Franky, will become a man in the valley of a mountain where fifty years ago thousands of my people were created and forced to enslave each other at the behest of a boy who didn’t know better, couldn’t have known better. I can’t think about this on the hard pew bench in the temple. My crewmates shuffle beside me, Mab quietly- for her- explaining to Captain what Franky is about to do. 

I can hardly breathe.

I am so afraid to hear my friend speak and become a man. I am afraid that when I hear him, I will not understand a word he says; I cannot leave, however. I want to be here for him. I never had a Batch Mitzvah myself; the Automata become adult at the age of thirteen regardless of a party, it’s just… traditional. It’s traditional to have a celebration. It doesn’t actually matter if you have one- you live to thirteen, you’re a man or a woman, and that’s the end of it.

Adult. If you live to thirteen, you’re an adult- no matter what your life is like, no matter what you’ve done to survive- thirteen years in this World is enough to take up the commandments of the Gods.

 

The literal translation of Gartch is Male, while Batch is Female; a Mitzvah is a command from the Gods. He is literally undertaking the Male Commandments from the Gods. 

Language is weird.

The origin of language in the human species has been the topic of scholarly discussions for several centuries. In spite of this, there is no consensus on the ultimate origin or age of human language. The topic is difficult to study because of the lack of direct evidence. Consequently, scholars wishing to study the origins of language must draw inferences from other kinds of evidence such as the fossil record, archaeological evidence, contemporary language diversity, studies of language acquisition, and comparisons between human language and systems of communication existing among other animals (particularly other primates). Many argue that the origins of language probably relate closely to the origins of modern human behavior, but there is little agreement about the implications and directionality of this connection.

This shortage of empirical evidence has led many scholars to regard the entire topic as unsuitable for serious study. In 1166, the Linguistic Society of Parisine banned any existing or future debates on the subject, a prohibition which remained influential across much of the western world until late in the twentieth century. Today, there are numerous hypotheses about how, why, when, and where language might have emerged. Despite this, there is scarcely more agreement today than a hundred years ago, when Charles Darwin's theory of evolution by natural selection provoked a rash of armchair speculation on the topic. Since the early 1390s, however, a number of linguists, archaeologists, psychologists, anthropologists, and others have attempted to address with new methods what some consider "the hardest problem in science".

 

 

Mark sitting next to me asks me why we needed to witness this, and does he really have to be at the party later? I tell him it’s because Franky asked for us to be here for him, and he replied that he mostly meant to just ask if he had to go to the party later. Mark isn’t really a people person, not really- he’s blunt and stubborn and terrible with words. I tell him that he’ll have to at least spend some time with Luffy and Usopp, then he can probably have Mab take him back with leftovers. Mark’s had his hair done up fancy for the occasion, and I don’t have the heart to tell him that between Usopp and Luffy he’s going to lose half the pins keeping it up.

 

It hasn’t started yet; Sanji and Mab are discussing the intricacies and differences between her God and his. Sanji’s God doesn’t really approve of the idea of a Gatch Mitzvah, not the party at least; his God doesn’t look kindly on those kinds of parties, teenagers and old people who stopped caring about propriety when death began to truly loom hiding in coat closets askewing each other and the new man’s smiling face engraved in bars of sweet fudge. These fun Gatch Mitzvahs, he says, violate at least five of the ancient laws of his God in the span of one four-hour dance party. She sniggers, and says it’s probably for the best that they become heretics together, hey, to which he replies with a cackle held in the bottom of his throat. The walls of the temple around me look like marshmallow and the roof is blue and green tiles with beautiful crystal lamps shining warmly.

 

I can hardly breathe for nerves.

 

From a door in the side of the wall at the front of the temple I can see the head Mechanic stepping forward, her forehead beading with cooling crystals and her tally cape soaked through to it’s tassels. The head Mechanic has the impossible name of Etai Benshlomo, and she is the woman who will be determining my friend’s worth as a man by the time the sun sets. Although she has most likely made the decision a thousand times before, she looks uncomfortable, nervous even. She could be sweating for two reasons: like me, she is scared for Franky, scared that he’ll fail, somehow; or like me, she has heard the sounds of artillery raining fire down on everything she loves, everyone she knows, the destruction of her world wrought by her own two hands and burning curiosity. She, too, didn’t listen to her Fairy friend’s admonishment to leave her baggage at home. I smile at the Mechanic- or possibly a simple Mechana, I can’t be sure from here- but there are so many people here, I doubt she saw it and knew it was for her.

This is significant, I tell myself. No matter how nervous I am about being in this ceremony, even peripherally, my being here, now, is significant. Even if I can’t figure out why or how- this is significant, beyond the historical. Of course, I know the real reasons, the reasons that twitch in my hands and fingers and toes as my heart pounds in my chest. I know why at the end of every Seder we clink glasses of vinefruit booze and promise each other to ‘keep going’. I know why we marry other Automata- so our daughter’s fingers can bend to the making of more people who are never to be slaves, so our son’s private parts can remain cleanly snipped at the ends, so our children know who they are and exactly from whence they came. I know why I don’t tell people everything about where I come from, I know why I shouldn’t eat pork but do anyway, I know what a knish is and I know why I’ve had my hair professionally straightened every month since I was ten. I know that my nose sings “Hatikvah” and if my hair was allowed to curl outside it’s keratinizing treatments, it would join in on the chorus. Taffy wraps an arm around my waist because she’s a kind young woman with incredible empathy.

 

I know these things because I am an Automata- Scariba, that’s the word I hardly dare think because that word is not for outsiders and for so long I was- because my mother was an Automata and her mother was before her and back and back to the Four Kindgoms that Fell and that’s how this story goes and the Automata are different and we are intent on proving this by swallowing our wrath for more than a thousand years, pasting our faces on bars of sweet fudge, freeing each other and arming our friends with lihyot am chofshi be’artzenu -eretz tziyon vi’rushalayim. 

The Scariba firmly subscribe to the annoying, wonderful belief that a good joke never loses its humor with multiple tellings; that a good joke should be told as often and as loudly as possible, and this is the punchline to our joke: we are intent on proving this point kol ‘od balevav p’nimah nefesh yehudi homiyah.

 

 

Franky’s eyes are almost perfectly round with terror- he stands at the pulpit, looks at the Words. For a moment, nothing. And then he sings the Word and the Word is the Word is the Word is the Word. In the shadows above his head I see words painting themselves in light hovering in the air and the words are derivative of Poneglyphs. I almost understand what he is saying by reading it, but I understand what he’s saying and what he’s saying is- is- it’s his aliyah, he is ascending oh my god I know more than just how to read Poneglyphs I can say them aloud too. I- I- Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam, hagomel lahayavim tovot, sheg'molani kol tov. Amen. Mi sheg'molayikh kol tov, hu yigmolayikh kol tov. Selah.

 

I do remember, after all. I never forgot. I never- Oh-

 

When it’s over, Taffy yawns and offers me a mint; blinks, then gently touches Mab’s shoulder with her wingclaws. Silently asks for a hanky. I take one of her mints, and it’s cinnamon, which I hate. I thank her for her mint. She presses a hanky into my hand, and I wipe my eyes.

 

The party is nice; Franky is very happy and proud. The fudge was good too.

 

Before I go back to Tequila Wolf, and it’s ancient collection of books, it’s crystal forest full of knowing deer (and, later, on to Baltigo and Revolution), Mab gives me a bag full of warm, fluffy socks and a jumper that goes all the way down to my thighs. This is what makes me start crying in earnest, which frightened Sanji and got Mab hugging me with more than a little bit of strength. In that moment, I was so happy; I could have died.

 

But I didn’t. I’m alright, really.

 

I didn’t die.


	20. 21:00; One Last Call at the Clover Corral

I’m a veterinary intern at L’ecole Trefle; I’m studying the behavior, biology, and medicinal uses of animals. 

I have instructions for what I need to do, every day. 

I don’t need them, but I check them anyway. 

Somehow, they’re always different from what I remember to do. They haven’t changed- I’ve changed how I read them. Shit, I lost my train of thought- I can’t remember what I was thinking about before. 

Something.

Why am I at the trainstation- work and a favor, right. I’m taking Ace, Marco, and Ace’s new friends- Nadia, Wavey Rancheros, and Parsnip the Cook- up to the Clover Corral because that’s where Daesung and Teacher Easeelie lives. 

Also, Ace mentioned an interest in having a pet, and the only creatures I can think of that would be good for him to have at Sea are all out at the Corral.

I took the baby mimics I was fostering out to the Corral the other day. They were getting too big for me to feed, and they’ll do better in a more natural environment for them to live in. 

I refer to every experience as happening “the other day”. There is no other day; if it didn’t happen just now, it might as well have not happened at all. 

I do not understand the passage of time; time is not real.

 

 

“So, where are we going, exactly?” says Ace.

Shit, I- Oh right!

 

“We’re going to the Clover Corral, which is a Large Animal research facility- however, you’re not getting a large animal, you’re getting a smaller one. I think. Also, I’m going to introduce you to Easeelie and Daesung, they’re both pretty cool. Daesung is more likely to actually be your crewmate if you ask, though. I don’t think Easeelie is really who you want.” I say.

 

 

I tell them a bit about the animal hospital all the way up to the tomb hills, but- Ace is more interested in my weapon. Right, Weapons. Okay, uh-

 

“No, I’m a staff fighter,  [ this ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/bb/46/e2/bb46e2a76e0f7d01651361c7081627f4.jpg) is classed as a staff. The hook actually makes it really good for disarming- remember, I’m a lot more like a doctor than anything else. I work with wild animals, mostly- so, hurting my opponent is never going to be my first instinct.” I say.

“...That seems a bit dangerous.” says Ace.

“Yeah, but it seems more dangerous to me, going around always ready to kill or hurt someone. That’s how you hurt people you don’t mean to.” I say. Then I remember, and wince, mostly at my own fat mouth.

 

Ace smiles ruefully, fingers rubbing over the trailing marks of his burned out rage. He’s scarred up pretty good over his hands and forearms; Mab was only able to affect the placement of them, not their actual formation. I didn’t tell her about the burn on my arm, and I’m not telling Ace either. I’ve got enough bites and burns, another one really isn’t that exciting.

His hair is getting long; I guess he and Spadey are growing their hair out. It looks nice.

 

 

When we Get There, Ace looks up at the sky. It’s a soft warm blue April sky, with wispy white clouds gently ambling across. We walk over hills, always the hills. 

Stop at a waystation for the night because it’s more danger than we really want to get into, traveling the Tomb Hills at night.

We could if we had to, but I don’t think there’s any need- and the nearest Gossip Stone was a day’s walk back. It’s not quite worth it.

The moaning of Lich Automata rings out from beyond- and Lich Automata are… Automata are people. Lich Automata aren’t people anymore, they’re- Something Else, Quite Frankly; as Ezra would say. This information comes directly from other Automata- er, Scariba, and they would know.

 

The next day, more walking. Ace is actually kinda slow on this hilly ground. Hills, hills, always the hills; hills to the left and ocean to the right as we go up the coast. We can’t really turn our backs on hills or ocean, but the ocean is hungrier than the hills; thirty three drownings this year alone. The ocean is hungry and doesn’t care. Ford a river delta along a half-broken bridge, and the next waystation is actually an old Inn. Charnel workers hang out here during their off hours- which is today, I think- so. We might see Yuki, maybe.

 

The Lumpy Pumpkin Tavern Inn- there are rolling fields of pumpkins and the smell of grave-rot is smothered in growing things and cooking food. Nice place; lovely pumpkin shaped chandelier.

We go in- and yeah, there’s Yuki drinking a steaming rosemilk with her crew- Garry, Marin, Jet, and Tank. They’re sitting around her so her back is to a wall- right, I always forget that she’s the same age I am, thirteen. 

I always forget how old I am- I feel at once older, old as the hills and forests and the creatures unbound from time; and I feel as if I never left my egg at all, this is just a dream as I asphyxiate in my egg-slime, amniotic fluid-

What was I thinking again? Oh, right.

I wouldn’t feel safe with my back to this room either, so it’s good to see her crew protecting her. She doesn’t actually need protecting, mind, but it’s hard to relax and enjoy leisure time when you’re on edge for an attack.

 

“Heeey, Yuki!” I call across the smoky bar.

“Ah- Fee! Asher! Hey! Come on over!” Yuki calls back.

“Hey, Yuki!” calls Ace.

 

And then we’re there, and Yuki is squeezing the ribs of Asher as hard as she can, which is actually very hard. She doesn’t look like much, our Yuki. You’d never guess she can deadlift three tons of gold, or that she can fight a swarm of Lich Scariba by herself and win.

Her boys make room for us, drag over more chairs; I end up next to Yuki, the both of us bracketed on all sides by everyone else. Ace sits with his back to the room, a soft smirk on his face. I catch his eye and nod, and his shoulders lose some of their fight ready tension. My natural state is somewhat like a flaprabbit’s- I don’t actually relax all that much, I just- if I’m awake, I’m aware of everything going on around me, and if I’m asleep, my restraint vanishes. It took a while to get used to having someone knock on my bedroom door to wake me up, but it’s way better than the alternatives.

 

 

We settle in for dinner. Yuki ‘ahs’ in understanding when I explain why we’re here.

 

“I’ve heard something weird is going on out at Clover Corral. And you know me, I don’t listen to gossip- if I’m hearing about it, I’m probably way out of the loop. Garry, you know more about it- what’ve you heard?” says Yuki, in between chomps of roasted pumpkin steak and squashflower dumplings. 

 

(Charnel Workers aren’t necessarily clean, but goddamn if they can’t cook a mean spread. Mmhmm. Good!)

 

“Hmm- Gossip Stones say that Teacher Easeelie and Doctor Daesung are having an Outs. I haven’t checked Big Mama Gossipa yet, but… I think it’s bad.” says Garry, swirling a murky mixed drink with a metal straw.

“You think there’s a Hunt being called?” I say, my spaghetti squash with fish bits all but forgotten in favor of the conversation.

“Maybe. It wouldn’t surprise me if there was; Teacher Easeelie… she’s an amazing doctor, for sure. But she’s not all that ethical, and one so steeped in darkness will be dragged to the light sooner or later. That it was Doc Daesung to do it also isn’t that surprising; they work closely together out of necessity, and the Doc’s convictions are Adamwood strong.” says Garry.

 

Garry has an ear on the pulsing heartbeat of the Tomb Hills because he lives out here, he’s actually… He’s one of the third or fourth sons of the Nokken King, and he makes it his business to know everything about what’s happening in the Hills. 

Thus his skill at understanding what Gossip Stones have to say; they’re from the old Sharpeye kingdoms. Sharpeyes were always known for their wide, unwavering gazes- and though most of them chose Archery, some of them chose Information to turn their eyes towards. Thus, Gossip Stones; since the Sharpeye diaspora some 700 years back, anyone who wants to (knows how to) use one can, and they’ll give out a random chunk of information (or provide aid). Garry is skilled at getting the information he’s after, however. (The only one who could do better is either an actual Sharpeye or a Goddess blessed Hero. Or a diviner, like Attwell. I can use them too, but there’s only the one thing I’m actually good at doing with them.)

 

 

 

We take lamps out to Big Mama Gossipa, our lights shining over the hedges. Hedges everywhere lining the road; some are short and wild, tangled green teeth smiling. Others are tall, taller than any house, solemn pines. Yuki watches the road; the roads are even hungrier than the ocean. Eighty six lost so far this year. I watch the edge of our lamplights skip over the hedges, watch the way they bounce on the leaves and twigs and tall tall grass. 

I don’t look past the hedges because sometimes there aren’t hedges, there are eyes.

Sometimes next to the roads there are fields and the Charnel workers keep sheep. Not many sheep. Yuki talks about them, sometimes; I watch and see more eyes than can belong to any herd of animals. Sheep eyes shining back in the darkness. I don’t count them, Yuki told me to never count them. 

In the light of day, there will never be the same amount of sheep heads for those pairs of eyes.

 

Big Mama is east, though not quite East. East would be Tiffany Harbour- we’re not going that far.

 

We walk, and we walk, eight miles give or take. I watched the whole way. 

Thin wire fences, strung between wooden posts; small skinny posts, like fingers poking out of the Vearth chapped and splintered and worn. They’re not held up by much, but they hold together the hillsides and all their little slips. You can fix anything with No. 8 wire; anything at all. It’s a stretchy, strong kind of wire-string I think. Dunno why they call it No. 8 though.

We get to Big Mama, her grey-white stone skin, her big red Sharpeye staring, staring,  [ staring ](https://shop.spreadshirt.com/image-server/v1/designs/10495842,width=178,height=178/zelda-sheikah-eye.png) . The bow, the archer, the arrow; ready, aim, fire. I understand the symbol- it’s actually pretty obvious, once you know what the Sharpeye’s built their kingdoms with. (Archery and Fornication. Archery and Fornication.)

Garry begins to Commune with Big Mama Stone’s lion-bird sigil. If we- I mean me, Ace, Marco, Nadia the Gardener, Wavey Rancheros, and Parsnip the Cook- if we need to get to Clover Corall quickly, I’ll have to use the Sigil myself.

 

 

The Wind from Grace’s Web comes howling through. There’s no warning for when the Wind comes; it comes and it screams and it howls. It rips the hat from Ace’s head and sends it flapping against his back. It pushes stones into the Vearth, clattering small pebbles over the road. It’d be worse if we were more East, I’ve heard.

We’re out in the Bushwilds. Nearly everything in the Tomb Hills is Bushwild; it’s almost everything out here. There was Bushwild around the Charnel Inn; there’s Bushwild between the Inn and the Ancient Forest and there’s even more Bushwild between the Forest and the Clover Corral. Shit, there’s Bushwilds all through every settlement in Faeland. There’s the Bushwilds out near Aunt Tiny and Uncle Ray-ray’s, where Aunt-y tests her bait mixtures. There’s Bushwilds I walk home from school through. The path vanishes about halfway through it; one time, I came to a part where the trees grew across the trail. I didn’t notice and just kept going. 

I think somebody lived out there once; found an old sheepwall and a burnt out house, but no people. I didn’t see anyone else, and I couldn’t hear the city. I came out on the other side of the hill, all the way in Thuletima. Took me three days to get back. It was the first time I ever did that, and it would take a while before I figured out how to do it on purpose.

The only person faster’n me on foot is Jackie, and Jackie’s a Wild Creature, so it stands to reason.

 

Mother Morgan loved the Bushwilds. She’d disappear up there for days, Mom says, vanishing into the gullies between the trees and the ferns, coming back with strange orchid Flowers and feathers from birds no one would admit to hearing but her; the grimy gemstones taken from the bodies of strange fish-creatures. 

Mama Rouge loved her for it; but Mom never did. 

 

We have a house, out in the Bushwilds- Ezra set up her stills in it. We can’t sell that place, but Mother Morgan and Mama Rouge’s descendants have the right to live there. Aunt Zippy stitched prayers into my bodice to protect me from the Bushwilds. 

The Bushwilds are always there, on the edge of the true Wilds; not quite as far out as Jackie goes, you can still find your way back to Civilized from the Bushwilds, if you want. 

Liminal, that’s the word I was wanting- the Bushwilds are liminal places.

 

The wind dies down, and Garry comes back from the stone wild eyed and grey faced.

 

“Daesung Hunted Easeelie. It is done; upon the rising of the moons, we must go to her.” he says.

 

 

It’s April, and a Teacher  [ is dead ](https://youtu.be/fMWYnZDq3Bo) . Praise the Gods. 

 

 

I go up to the stone, take a small dagger from my boot and dawk the palm of my hand. I work my hand until blood begins to pool, cup my hand and smear it across the wings of the lionbird. Below the goddesses, the lionbird flies- and my blood is drunk by the greedy stone. The Wind is back, howling and crying. I speak, and I do not hear the words, but I know what I said. 

It's between me and them.

The moons rise, and in the bloody-haired light there come a prideful parliament of  [ night-stalking Griffins ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/24/cd/29/24cd2923a02f72c9b4d9c4c3e1d67742.jpg) . They have faces like barn owls, and soft paws like cats, and they move silently. I know they have come because my blood on the stones is gone, and the wind is gone, and only shadows and moonlight and my brother and my sister and their friends remain.

I wasn’t really friends with Easeelie. I know better than to befriend the kind of creature that feeds the young to- but for Daesung to have killed her, it must mean she was using her own unhatched eggs. Nothing else would have counted as a Broken Law. A Broken Law is the only thing that will set a Fae to course in the Hunt.

I climb astride the Lionbird’s back; so does everyone else. It’s a very large Lionbird- a large Griffin. There’s a great extending of wings, and then one, two, three- we’re in the air. The wind is silent, because we’re all huddled in- her, this is a her- feathers, and owls even when they’re lions, are silent in flight.

 

Easeelie died in April. Everyone who knew her goes to the Clover Corral. Our prideful parliament of lionbirds lands in a dead tree-perch fair bristling with other mounts. There’s no climbing down this tree- it’s best to just jump down, which I do. 

I’m followed by Yuki, and Asher. We walk past milling crowds of researchers, through an empty barn to- a wild lunging ring. There, in the bare sand, sits Daesung, Easeelie’s own  [ threaded cane ](http://allplatformgaming.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/bb-transforming-cane.jpg) pinning Easeelie’s corpse to the bare dirt. Blood is on her face, on her hands, pooling around and beneath Daesung- vile. That cane is made whiplike with a spine of No. 8 wire. Like I said before; you can fix anything with enough No. 8 wire, even Lawbreakers.

Especially Lawbreakers.

 

 

I take my hanky and my water bottle and I start wiping her face. She blinks, and leans into my touch. I don’t need to know what happened, but she’s going to tell me anyway.

 

“She was feeding her babies to Fizzy. She would get herself pregnant, and use the bonus money you’re allowed to take when you have kids, and she’d keep it for herself and she’d make her babies strong and healthy and then she’d take them out as eggs and feed them to Fizzy the Fursnake.” murmurs Daesung.

“...You took that course at the children’s hospital, Daisy?” I say.

“I did. Didn’t say anything about it- wanted something for myself. When I saw her holding that egg- I asked what she was going to do with it, and she. She fucking smiled, like it was some great joke. Said that it was for Fizzy, hadn’t I seen her feed Fizzy before?” says Daesung.

“Oh no.” I say.

“So. I told her a boldfaced Lie. Said- said something about Fizzy needing a change in her diet, said- dunno what I said, I just said whatever would get the egg in my hands. I- Oh, oh no the egg- I’ve defiled myself in Traitor’s blood, I can’t go back in to get it-” says Daesung.

“My sister and my brother will stay with you. Tell me where it is, and I’ll go get it.” I say.

“-I- thank you. It’s in my storage locker, in my backpack. And could you bring out my things? I can’t go back in there.” says Daesung.

 

I say “Yes, of course.” and then I stand, and let Asher take over. He was all but shivering with the need to go to Daesung’s side. 

It happens like that sometimes with Fae- you’ll meet someone and just Know you’re going to be friends, or that you need to be there, at that person’s side. 

Like I Knew that Easeelie was bad news and if Daesung was to survive her training, I’d need to be with her- like that, but better.

 

Yuki, Garry, and the Bellevilles (Marin, Jet, and Tank; and they are handsome, too, more’s the pity- can’t date no Gravediggin’ boys, Mom and Aunt Zippy would have conniptions) are all carefully doing something with the corpse because people who have been Hunted cannot be buried in the same manner as people who are killed or merely die. It’s why they came with. They’re going to stay with Easeelie’s body- by the time I get back, she’ll be flesh and bones, and her bones will be made beautiful. 

Yuki will probably take her to the Tomb of the Craven herself. 

Yuki described it to me once- there’s a pit deep in the Tomb Hills, behind the Great Door; and that pit is filled with carved bones. There are many bones, some bigger than even giant’s bones, and more bones than your eye can see. 

That’s the Tomb of the Craven- for seven months, the Traitorous bones rest there, and then the bones are crushed and returned to the Vearth. There are actually quite a few Craven Tombs scattered around the Faelands, but that one’s closest and the one Yuki knows.

At no time will the body be left alone because the body can never be left alone, never until the quiet Vearth is their bedding and the quiet dead are surrounding them. 

It’s unwise.

 

Oh, um.  [ Daesung Petrol ](https://gyazo.com/4e0b456f14b0f2a2fd2835f1ecff8d0a) is a Lanfolk, of immigrant parents. She’s- she’s one of my peers, actually, even though she’s so much older. She actually has a full medical doctorate for general practice, but I guess she discovered that she wanted to help animals more than people? Doesn’t matter- she got burned, either way.

I carefully shoo Ace’s new crewmates into place around him, and tug Marco away with my clean hand- always pays to have a clean hand, just in case. Marco blinks, nods, and walks with me.

We go back through the barn, go up a path and away from the growing crowd of people; Garry is talking to them. They’re starting to go quiet, and- ashamed. 

We need to hurry up.

 

Ahead, there is a building, like a house. That’s the office- I use my key to get in, go to Daesung’s locker. Her backpack (which looks like a  [ pineapple ](http://www.makeit-loveit.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/pineapple-drawstring-backpack-2.jpg) ) is full with the [ egg ](https://cache.popcultcha.com.au/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/g/r/green-egg-paper-weight-01.png) , so I’ll have to put everything that would normally ride in her backpack into her doctor’s bag, which is going to piss her off. One of the Automata- Glamdraug- who keeps the office clean hands me a scuffed up duffle, which is kind of him. So I don’t have to piss her off, I just have to pack for her.

I can do that.

 

First things first- secure the egg. I give the bag to Marco. He’s the strongest person here- if he can’t handle keeping the egg safe, none of the rest of us can, not really. Okay, maybe Yuki could, but Yuki is not a fair metric for anyone. I surely can’t- or rather, I won’t. Asher would if he had to, but I’m not going to ask that of him. I’ve asked enough of my brother, I think.

Besides, he’s already got three of his own to look after.

 

Marco puts the eggbag in his arms, and lets me hook the straps over his shoulders so’s it won’t fall, and the egg rests careful and proper over his stomach. Ain’t no place safer for a traveling egg.

He watches as I carefully fold up Daesung’s clothes, pack away her money and her weapon- a Belugabuss, one of the heavy duty versions meant for breaking up swarms of the skeels what carry off bison, goes into it’s holster. Pack everything onto my back, and lead Marco back out.

Stop by the dispensary for a big packet of immunizations; it’s time Asher had his shots. 

We go back to where the crowd was, and we find- Daesung slung onto Asher’s back. 

 

The crowd is a sharp word away from turning ugly; what comes out of my mouth is almost always sharp and ugly. I can’t help it. I bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood and I spit it into the dirt. 

Silently, the proud parliament of griffins settle down, making space among the crowd where there was none. Their enormous wings bring cold winds; their sharp beaks gleam silver in the moonlight. I spit another glob of blood as my brother and his crew and Marco climb onto their own lionbird- one that looks a bit like a fish hawk; she’s huge, and her feathery mane is more than enough to shroud my brother and his crewmates.

Yuki, the shrouded corpse, and her gang climb onto another. It’s a horned owl griffin, it’s plumage and fur like a soot-covered aspen’s bark.

 

There’s a phrase for what I’m doing, spitting blood. See, everyone here knows me, and knows about my mouth, and the fact that all I really do when I talk is scratch at people. For me, spitting blood is a sign of my  _ extreme _ displeasure.

Even though I’m the most… personable of the Royals, I am still Royal.

My displeasure is  _ not good. _

See, in this kind of mood, I’m liable to cut a man to pieces with my words alone- and I do mean that literally.

So.

I spit my hot red blood from my wet lips, and I do not speak, and the crowd once so angry and around us has found a multitude of other things what need doing.

Good.

 

I climb onto the feathery back of a griffin who’s face is the face of a barn owl. She takes offence to the way the crowd of researchers is staring at us, and she roars. Her voice is a screech and a boom of thunder, and at that we fly away from the Clover Corral. My griffin takes the lead, and we go up the riparian to the ruined houses where once a city stood. We curl around and around, and land in a different place entirely.

 

There’s a swampy brackish area up in the foothills near Death Mountain, and that’s where Eazy’s house is. Well, I say house- she’s got her house where she sleeps,  [ the Seabreasy Speakeasy ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/f8/e3/00/f8e300f8290041b8fe12da5c55c11349.jpg) , and she’s got the Barn where she actually does her brewing.

 

I don’t remember Ezra taking us inside, or feeding the griffins, or anything. I don’t remember much more of that awful night, really. I imagine it must be worse for Daesung. I wasn’t privy to the conversation that went between Marco, Ace, Mab, and Popstache Whitebeard. I just know that we stayed out at Ezra’s house for about three months. 

Mostly, about that night, what stands out in my mind, is curling up in Easy’s guest hammock and watching the lights from the fire down belows flicker over bottles and baskets and other strange things.

Easy’s a Swamp Witch and it’s- heh- easy to forget that in light of her massive nerd powers, but… just like Asher’s a Dad who happens to be a pirate too, Easy’s a Swamp Witch with a doctorate in Chemistry. I say Asher’s a Dad because… well, near as I can figure, he was always a friendly dad-type person inside the skin of an angry young man. He wears heavy-wearin’ shorts with pockets belted on, and sturdy boots with boring socks, and a fancy hat, and he’s got long hair and a beardy thing on his chin, and he can fling a pun at fifteen paces so strong the entire room will groan except for Mab, who has no sense of humor to speak of, who gigglesnorts until she hiccups. It don’t get much more dad-like than that.

 

I wouldn’t have chosen a Griffin for Asher’s Division pet, but Strega and Mowze, a young pair of Fish Owl Griffin hens, have decided otherwise. Both of them are about the size of a boar- maybe a quarter ton each but they can hit ten times that. Their claws are like broadswords, when they’re outside their paws; their wings the very hurricane; their eyes blaze like torches and their cries of anger are stentorian and rumbling like thunder. Their shoulders sit about chest high on a full grown man. 

Strega refuses to stay in Faeland, and has told Ace, quite clearly, that he’s her boy now, and that’s final. Mowze is less forceful, but no less determined- and has decided that Marco is her boy, if her sister Strega is picking Ace. -If there are boys for the picking, then she’s picking Marco. (You ever been stared at by an owl? You ever been stared at by a large cat? You ever had one of these animals decide you hung the moons? Well, it’s like that.)

 

 

Mowze has also assisted Marco in grooming his ragged feathers- he can’t remove all of them in one go, of course, but she helps him pull enough over the first few days to build a respectable nest. Mowze clacked something along the lines of “A proper nest belongs in a nice tree hollow or in a clutch of stones, of course- but you’re a silly grass bird so we’ll make you a silly grass nest. Pluck your feathers Boy, you can’t expect me to do all the work! Honestly, you go to all the trouble of claiming that egg-chick as your own and you think you can get away with not making your own nest for it? Fie on you! Pluck! Pluck and flutter!”

 

Marco, when he isn’t eating the seeds and nuts we’ve been gathering for him, is looking paradoxically more alert and healthy as a bird, and also more harassed and stressed and happy around the human eyes. Odd dichotomy, but I guess Zoans are like that. His feathers are beginning to look glossy and smooth, aside from the mild flame aura. Mowze is starting to patrol around his nest, which is making his bird-self feel even more relaxed and safe. Which is good- the stupid meat parts of the body can revitalize the higher functions of the mind, if care is taken with them. 

As for the egg itself, well- Mab did something, and I helped her with a song. It’s not the song that I played when Easeelie died, on the lap harp. It’s not the song Aunt Zippy taught us, for the making of eggs- it’s a different one. Roger left a guitar at Tiffanyan; Mother Morgan left a harp. Tuning it was easy-  [ playing it, more so ](https://youtu.be/oPmKRtWta4E) . In praise of the goddesses, I played. Ace was stunned when I finished playing. He didn't realize what it meant that I wanted a lots of strings guitar for myself.

 

I had to take a few hours for myself after playing the harp because- I could see how much it hurt Mab to hear me play. Not in the moment of playing, but after. I've hurt all my siblings, but especially her and I'm tired of it.

 

The egg changed into something that was several times bigger- not the size of an unborn babe, but a toddler, maybe even a five or six year old. It looked a hell of a lot like a blue pineapple with no leaves. There’s nothing left of Easeelie now but her bones, and even those are being returned to the Vearth.

It’s funny- I’ve already forgotten her voice, and her face. Soon I’ll forget all of her, and- let her die. Let the kind of person who would intentionally get herself pregnant, take the money set aside for pregnant persons for herself, and feed her unborn children to a giant snake to be digested; let her die. 

Let the woman who so hurt my brothers and sister die, let her die, God and Goddessess let her die. I will never be happy playing the harp.

 

I’ve been teaching Parsnip how to feed Strega and Mowse- which is basically let them hunt and they need these supplements once yearly, and these medicines once monthly, and Daisy takes over for me. So I’m mostly regulated to helping feed Marco; I go out into the backwoods and gather as many walnuts will fit into a nine-foot duffle. Not sure what Ace has been doing. I know it’s hatching time when Mab appears again with a trunk full of child’s clothing and a giant wrap- oh, right, a baby wrap. Her baby wrap, actually, the one Mab made when she thought- 

I hadn’t realized she’d kept it. Well. I suppose regifting is about the only thing to be done with such things.

 

Oh yeah, and apparently Ace has a phobia of needles- or at the very least, faints when it’s time for shots. But he didn’t want Double Measles, Slime Mumps, Sandburr Cough, or that one that makes you shoot blood from the eyes like a scared lizard I always forget the name of, either. So, Doc Daisy gave him a bunch of shots while he was laying down an’ all, and then he was sick as hell for about three weeks because he also caught the flu.

And then  _I_ caught the flu.

Fuckin’ flu.

 

* * *

 

Due to the Hunt, an egg was orphaned.

 

Faeland is split on the issue of Lineage- some declare that it only matters if the person in question decides it matters. Others take the same tack as the World Government- that being that Lineage is of paramount importance. I could have taken the egg in, but- Marco completely steamrollered the conversation. Talked about the egg like it was his.

I didn’t stop him- I mostly just started nosing around for a secure phone line, which Ezra had. Then I beat my memory until Pop’s number fell out. After Mab came by and got the scoop and helped us out, I called him and let him know what was happening. He seemed horrified and amused and worried in equal measure. 

I started calling every other day to reassure him and also just let him know that we’re all okay, really. Really, we’re alright.

It's funny- I've never really just talked to Pops like that before.

 

I mean, no one expected Marco to do anything like settling down, but here he is. Nesting, with a big blue egg. 

 

Every time we talk about what Marco is doing, I’m able to explain more of the why- most of his actions actually have nothing to do with his own personal comfort. There is actually nothing even remotely comfortable about pulling feathers out of your skin- which is what he did, after shoving the alfalfa hay around into a nest he could curl up in as a bird, and nevermind that Marco is allergic to alfalfa. It’s also what I did when my flu turned into Feather Flu, which is  _ very painful, actually _ .

Fuckin’ flu.

I also got to experience first hand what it means to be Allergic to something. Allergic is when you hold your sister's pet ferret in one hand and let it run around on your forearm and then the next day wake up to a bleeding burning pox everywhere the ferret touched.

And you still have the flu.

But I can't just say Fuckin' Ferrets and be done, because Fee loves them and just because I don't doesn't mean she shouldn't.

 

Marco’s taken to spending as much time as he can as a Phoenix, because the bird isn’t allergic to alfalfa but the man is. It’s like pulling ingrown hairs, actually- pulling feathers. Marco is covered in them- feathers, I mean. He’s not pulling his feathers out because it feels nice- he’s pulling them out so the child inside his egg doesn’t get cold and scared. 

He’s not reading stories out loud to the egg because he likes talking to rocks- he’s making sure the child inside the egg knows his voice when they come out.

I understand, honestly. I even understand why Marco’s so taken with the egg; how to explain it… feeling a little heartbeat, being near something so reliant on you for everything… it changes a man. Changes him down to the marrow.

Fae eggs look very beautiful, it’s true, but the actual treasure is inside the pretty shell. That treasure has to be cared for- and Marco chose to care for this one. Says he’s going to name the child Delorean if it’s a boy, and Delilah if it’s a girl. 

I sincerely hope it’s a girl; Marco is terrible at picking names, but Delilah isn’t half bad. Pops laughed and agreed, and told me about the time Marco nearly named Moby Dick- well, he swore me to secrecy about what Marco nearly named the flagship, but good god it was awful.

 

Marco’s kid, Delilah, hatched herself out on nearly the last day of April, the 30th; three months to the day since we came to Chestnut Swamp to stay with my sister Ezra at her House. Can't take an Egg nowhere when it's been Changelinged and Lurked and- and needs to bond with Marco.

Mab changed the egg so that- Easeelie- wouldn't be a part of the being inside anymore. Said it was a matter of Law, an old one; wouldn't have mattered in the City but we ain't in no City. Now the egg's half-Marco, and half- we don't know. We know it's not Easeelie. But we don't know what else it is.

 

We'll have to find out together.

 

I called Pops when the tapping and cracking started getting energetic.

There was some confusion about why I had called and what I was talking about- but Pops rumbled an explanation and for some reason everyone was there, and- as soon as they heard the noise of the kid trying to bust out of the egg, and I said “Marco’s kid is hatching.” Well, there was a general susurrus of laughter, to which I replied “It ain’t funny, and it ain’t my story to tell.”

Then I handed the phone over to Doc Daisy, who did have the right to tell it. She did, quiet flat and still aflame with protective rage; and when she was done, there wasn’t anyone laughing at all.

The matter of Delilah’s adoption by Marco is not something to be amused over- not the facts of the matter. There’s other, more appropriate things to laugh over- but not the circumstances that landed Marco with an egg.

 

 

Marco’s nest was all burning blue feathers and his own near frantic anticipation, in sweet alfalfa hay. 

It smells good in Ezra’s barn- she doesn’t keep animals in it, she keeps fruit in bushels and soft bales of hay and booze in barrels fermenting and- this is some of the softest hay I’ve ever slept in. No rats, either. 

Mab gave us feather pillows and soft quilts to snuggle under, which was very kind of her. Really, it's nice up here but- I miss the sea. 

...So  **_this_ ** is the Sea Longing.

If it’s this bad for me- and Mab had this since she was nine. Six year's- no, eleven. I don’t think I’d have made it.

 

There’s a very distinctive tap-tap-thump-thump rhythm going, and Marco-

 

I take the phone back and narrate as best I can.

 

“This is the first challenge an Egg-hatched Fae goes through. There are others, of course, same as anyone gets just being born- but this is the hardest one. The eggshell is thick, like stoneware, it’s not a thin birdshell at all. The only thing Marco can do to help the one inside is call to them with his Haki- he can’t help in any other way. This is something they have to do themselves- or not.” I murmur.

“That seems harsh, son.” said Pops, worriedly.

“It  _ is _ harsh, Pops- but there’s a reason for it. I-” I say, before a particularly vigourous series of thumps and cracks from inside the egg steal my attention away. Stole it for long enough, it’s Easy and Fee talking to Pops, not me.

 

“It’s harsh because it’s Fair, Popstache.” said Fee.

“Mm. I can remember being in the egg, a little- it’s hot, and tight, but safe. Imagine it like this- say you’re somewhere safe. It’s warm, and people who love you come around to talk to you every now and then, and there’s all the food you could want, and you’ve no responsibilities at all.” said Easy.

“But as time goes on, a pall is cast over your paradise. Your warm and safe and small place- because it is a small place, you can trace the edges of it with your hands- it becomes a dastardly prison.” said Fee.

“It is a prison because it is too small.” says Easy.

“Too small, too hot, too tight- everything you’ve ever known.” says Fee.

“You’ve only heard things about the outside. You’ve only got descriptions of colors, and lights, and what the sunlight feels like-” says Easy.

“It feels very much like being on the Execution Stand, Pops. Like that, but you don’t want to leave- it’s all you’ve ever known, all you can remember, hot and tight and safe and music, too, from a voice you only know in a pink sky, far away. There’s a cord attached at your waist, keeping you clinging to the walls, and for a while you knew you were not alone, in that prison-place. And then you were, and it was Wrong, but you couldn’t change anything about it.  **And when your safety becomes a prison there is nothing you want more than to be** **_out._ ** _ ” _ I say.

“It’s worst when you’re made to wait to come out,” says Ezra, her eyes shining strangely in the dim morning light, “because you can feel you’re too small, your prison is  **_too small_ ** , and  _ it  _ **_hurts_ ** _ , _ it aches as everything you are is squeezed tighter and tighter because there is no room, and **_it hurts,_ ** it burns like hellfire- like being stabbed or shot or caught in an explosion and you  _ can’t move _ and-” she cuts herself off.

“Yuki had it the worst. She’d like to be in here, with the rest of us- but… Asher- Ace Ariel- your son, Ace, is like a banked bed of embers, Popop. Quiet, more or less- hot, sure, but quiet ‘till the Wind catches him and makes him flare up fierce. He’s a steady flame, meant for hard, steady work; cooking, smithing... a kiln, or a boiler, or a furnace. Yuki’s a bonfire what got lit for celebration- her flame is meant to dance and dance and _ never stop. _ And for three years, Popop, Yuki  **_stopped.”_ ** says Fee.

“...I had to get out, and find who I’d lost. I had to know...” I whisper raggedly, watching the egg, not daring to look at the phone. 

“This custom is harsh to you, Popstache, but consider-  _ not every being  _ **_wants_ ** _ to live. _ Even in more common births, where the egg is soft-shelled and inside someone, sometimes the baby just doesn’t want to live- and so, does not.  **_It isn’t our choice to make_ ** **.** Skua, above all, is harsh but Fair; if a being doesn’t want to live, we won’t stop them from not living. Moreover, if Marco helps that person, in that egg- because those people who hatch from Eggs are never actually babies, they come out at about the same size as a toddler and with much of the knowledge- if Marco helps that person, that person will always wonder if they could have done it without him. People who hatch from eggs remember the hatching; it’s not often spoken of, but, we do. All of us what hatched from eggs remember the hatching.” said Fee.

“Have Faith, Popop. Have Faith in your son’s ability to love, and the child’s ability to accept his love.” said Easy.

 

I don’t say anything at all, until-

 

“Foot!” I whisper-shout.

“Son-?” murmurs Pops.

“The- the kid just put their foot through the top of the egg, there’s a pinhole now which will make things easier, and- there it is again, they’re kicking a hole in the shell but they’ll have to cut the membrane with the Claws, it’s too stretchy to kick their way out of and they’ll asphyxiate before it gets hard enough-” I say.

 

Marco is very focused on his egg, calling to the one within with his Haki. 

I’ve actually learned a hell of a lot about Haki while I’ve been here. I can do the Claws with my fingers, like every Fae can- but I can also do subtler things with it too, things I didn’t even realize were possible with the power. 

It really is like Mab said: “Belief can’t move mountains, exactly- but it can make a person who can. All you have to do, to do it, is to  **_do it-_ ** and not doubt that you can.” 

It’s a staggering kind of self confidence that my siblings have been teaching me. I’m not well practiced in it, but- I’m getting better.

Outside the barn, sitting in a row on the fence, waiting and tense, is my sister Yuki and her gang of graveyard workers. 

Me, Strega, Nadia the Gardener, Wavey Rancheros (it’s like a Tribe Called Quest; you have to say the whole thing), Parsnip the Cook, and a recovered Doc Daesung are all sitting in the hayloft alongside Easy and Fee, quietly observing the near silent nest below.

Pops, on the phone, is accompanied by all the Division Officers, either on the Moby itself- Vista, Namur, Haruta, and Izo (must be the- shit, it’s budget week for the quarter, shit shit shit-  **_that’s_ ** why everyone was there)- or on the phone, so, Jozu, Blamenco, Rakuyo, Blenheim, Curiel, Kingdew, Atmos, Speed Jiru, and Fossa; and of course all the rest of our subordinate brothers and sisters, who aren’t Commanders. 

 

I’ve never heard my family be so quiet, all in a group.

 

The egg goes tap-tap-thump-thump, as the person inside it squirms and shimmies, figuring out the best way to get at the opening. 

 

“-what the hell is that sound-?” hisses Haruta.

“They’re still in mostly a shell, Haru, and the egg is sitting- sorta on it’s side? The person in it has to twist around to get at the pinhole in the top, or- yeah, there we go. They’re taking a rest. They still have air, the shell is still intact enough for gas exchange to still be working, but the more the shell goes, the less breath they’ll have inside the egg… be real quiet everyone, and listen close. There’s one big push left- they’re fighting their way out, and that’s literal.” I say.

 

The only person in the nest besides Marco and the Egg is Mab, and she’s a midwife so I’m not entirely sure she counts as a person right this second. 

Yuki and Mowse are keeping watch on the entrances to the barn- it couldn’t be safer. Marco still isn’t going to relax until… oh, six months after he dies, of course, but- yeah, it couldn’t be safer for the egg. 

 

The feeling across the phoneline, snail to snail, is anticipatory. 

 

The feeling is so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

 

I’m wringing my hands with nerves.

 

Even the snail is tense, it’s little foot clinging to my leg with more force than I think I’ve ever felt from a phone before.

 

 

Oh boy, here we go-

 

Below, there rings out a resounding- like a nail across a hard stone or a  [ hawk’s cry ](https://youtu.be/hrv3Gpst9GE) , one with every strike and wobble of the egg, and then the sharpest creaking snap I’ve ever heard. A crazing of spiderweb cracks goes across the surface of the shell from that first relatively tiny hole. 

 

The anticipation could strangle a man. 

 

There’s another loud crack, followed by a multitude of steady thumps. 

Then, with a final  [ rather impressive screech ](https://youtu.be/33DWqRyAAUw) , a large hunk of shell falls away into the soft green hay. It is followed by a multitude of sharp kicks through the stretchy membrane, and the crashing of eggshell onto eggshell like  [ pottery ](https://youtu.be/R14G5ac76Uc) onto hard ground.

Many, many breakable pots, right onto the ground.

I briefly see a small foot pressing into the egg membrane in a picture perfect kick- a lot like Marco’s, actually- before small hands start pressing on the membrane. Punching, kicking- biting-

 

“What’s happening?” says Pops, very worried now, but quiet.

“We got a live one, Pops, a fierce little kid- they kick  **_just exactly_ ** like Marco, it’s the damndest thing, and half the shell’s just  _ gone _ and- this is the first step, and it went quick, really, Mab said it could take hours to get here and- the second step depends on how fast the kid can figure out the Claws, or even Fangs though that’s rare as hell- and Marco’s restraint, too, if I’m understanding right.” I whisper.

“...what-?” I hear Izo say, before being loudly shushed.

“Shell’s more than half gone, right?” said Speed Jiru.

“Yep.” I answer. Speed Jiru isn’t called ‘Speed’ because of how fast he is physically, but because of how fast he gets to the point of things. 

 

“How long before the little one suffocates?” said Speed Jiru, in a room that had gone dead silent with fear to hear his question- because he got it. And now, so does everyone else.

This is not a mere battle for freedom- this is a battle of life and death.

 

“As of now, they’ve got another three minutes; and then the Midwife intervenes, which will throw the kid into cardiac arrest. If that happens, my sister Mab will have one hundred thirty seconds exactly to restart the heart and get their blood reoxygenated, otherwise it’s over. Which would be sad, for everyone.”

“Holy shit.” said Haruta.

“We’re on again- come on, kid- they’re scratching, and biting at the- there you go, kid, claw your way out, come on, don’t give up, almost there, come on-” I mumble to myself, but I’m holding the phone very close to my chest and I’m sure my siblings heard me.

 

Child birthing is, according to my midwife-sister Mab, always this nerve wracking, even when the kid isn’t even yours- or, more likely, especially then.

Marco looks like he’s about to crawl out of his skin with the need to do-  **_something_ ** .  **_ANYTHING._ **

 

“C’mon, Kid. Bust out of that prison!” rumbles Namur, followed by a soft chorus of encouragement and cheering from my family at Sea. The loudest cheerers are shoved outside by quieter, tenser people.

Izo says a litany of prayer, and Haruta-

 

**_“I’ll_ ** show you my Claws when I get back, Haru, just- almost there, kid, almost- they’ve got a Fang through! They’ve- oh  _ gross- _ ” I say, whining as-

 

A  [ deep gasp ](https://youtu.be/twYcZkVqOpY) from the egg echoes out as a flood of egg-juices and blood gushes out. The sound of -a  [ sea eagle, ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RArGl2vkGI) really? and- little spitting noises that eventually overtake the bird-sounds, as the gasping and the choking and  [ spitting ](https://youtu.be/_LNQoApQ4uo) resolves itself into much  [ quieter breaths ](https://youtu.be/5tGuLWKh8c0) . 

Kind of snotty sounding, actually.

Oh, now that was- that’s a lugey. Oh  _ ew _ \- childbirth is always gross, no matter what kind of egg the child’s in.

 

“Membrane’s cut, and the chick’s breathing on their own. Spitting like crazy, too- their nose and mouth must’a been full of egg slime and mucus, and it all has’ta go so’s they can breathe, so- spitting. Now we just have to see what them an’ Marco’s gonna do...” I whisper, before continuing, “Marco’s half risen- made to run towards the kid as soon as he heard them gasping and spitting, and it really is a sound like they can’t breath damn-near ‘tall… gah, all my parent instincts are going almost berserk up here, it must be  _ so much  _ **_worse_ ** down there- but he can’t go to them yet, they have to go out on their own first and it’s not something to be rushed, y’gotta let them go at their own pace, it’s Not Good to rush a chick- breathing’s better, still snottier than I’d like but it’s to be expected considering the circumstances- hand, hand, one hand, five fingers, not webbed- it’s a hell of a roulette wheel, Changeling an egg, there could have been  _ anything _ in there, but she’s Marco’s blood, now- Midwife- Mab’s finished telling Marco what to do. He’s moving slower than I’ve ever seen, slow like a cat creeping up on a bird, slow, slow- he’s moved around to the opening in the side of the egg, and he’s sitting down in front of it, and his knuckles are- white, he’s tense and very, very nervous but excited, too-”

 

And then-

 

“-face! Like Marco’s face but rounder, chubby cheeks, bigger eyes, bigger nose, hair’s a greener tint and plastered flat like in a heavy rain- cute kid, looks kinda like a pineapple but I guess it’s only natural-” I murmur.

Haruta stifles a nervous, relieved giggle, as Izo sobs uncontrollably. Izo’s a crier, and that’s okay.

 

“Grey eyes like a chunk of river rock or a stormcloud, that’s the- they’re stepping, creeping out of the egg, most muscular little girl I’ve ever  _ seen _ and -Izo, remind me to talk to you about the Skuan understanding of Gender later, I think you’ll be intrigued- oh, oh, they’re staring at each other.” I whisper-babble, staring at the miracle.

 

It’s a girl.

 

It’s a girl, covered in slime from her big blue egg, the big blue egg she just fought her way free of- she’s standing, covered in slime and naked- today is the day she’s born, after all. 

She’s standing, her little muscular chest heaving and panting, and she’s staring at Marco. 

Marco stares right back, wide eyed.

No one moves for seventy- seventy seven, seconds.

 

The girl starts to smile- beaming. And then, she speaks.

 

“...Pops?” she says, tentatively.

Marco, tears streaming down his grinning face, nods.

 

“POPS!” she shrieks, “LOVE YOU!”

And then she launches herself into Marco’s arms with a slimy splat.

 

Marco catches her, grinning and weeping with overwhelming joy, and he replies, “I love you too, Delilah.”

 

“Her name’s Delilah, if you didn’t catch it, and her first words were ‘Pops, love you’ to Marco. Then she jumped on him and he’s covered in baby-slime and hugging h-her and  _ I’m s-so h-h-happ-yyyyy- _ ” I say, crying.

“...Oh thank god she’s a girl...” whimpers Izo, tears streaming down- her, today, from the eyelashes- her face.

 

Mab is happy crying. I am happy crying. Marco is happy crying. My division officers, including Strega (whose duties are morale based), are happy crying. Pops is happy crying. All the rest of my brothers and sisters are happy crying, and the people outside who were cheering her on loudly are now loudly cheering her on and happy crying too.

This is a good birthday.

 

 

 

So- Mab didn’t actually take us back to the Moby. The fish owl griffin- the Lionbird, Sonja, Strega and Mowse’s mother, took me, my division officers, division pet and morale booster Strega, and Marco’s babysitter, Mowse, back to the Moby. 

She allowed Wavey Rancheros to direct us back to the coast, then she flew and she flew and she flew. 

I told her where the Moby was on the wine dark sea because I Knew. I could feel it. Behind us flew Marco, and nestled on his back was a very excited Delilah, wrapped in windbreaker cloth and with enormous goggles on her face. 

A few months on Land was nice in it’s way, but god; I missed the Sea something fierce.

Good, to go home.

 

We came upon the Moby, Pops standing against the rail. Worried, excited. 

Marco lands first, then my crew, then Strega, followed by Mowse. 

I go last because- I don’t know. Felt right. Landed on the deck light as a sunbeam, from the back of a winged lion.

Atty was Right. As far as tests of courage go, attending a childbirth like that is one hell of a test.

 

Sonja the Lionbird roared her goodbye, and I waved back, and that was it. S’good to be home. 

 

Pops was looking at my new crewmates, and Marco, and Delilah wrapped up in the Skua-style baby wrap between Marco’s shoulders. Delilah was staring up at- oh no.  _ Oh  _ **_no._ **

Dammit, I need my heart for vital functions, I can’t have it exploding due to cuteness- shit, too late-

 

“Pops!” Delilah whispered.

“Delilah?” said Marco.

“Mustache!” Delilah whispered with an adorable reverence.

 

Nadia started giggling, but pressed both hands over her mouth. Wavey Rancheros was grinning with all his teeth on display, his face fins flaring with a pure kind of joy. Parsnip snorted, and nudged Daesung, who smiled a half-smile and grabbed a bag.

I can actually feel my heart melting.

 

“Yes, Delilah, Pops has a big mustache.” said Marco.

“No!” said Delilah.

“Yes, he does.” said Marco.

“No! Pops does not have a mustache!” said Delilah.

“Yes, he does.” said Marco, very patiently.

“No!” said Delilah.

Marco sighed.

 

“Who is that, then?” said Marco.

“Not Pops! Pops does not have a mustache!” said Delilah.

 

Marco had steadily been shelling her- peeling the windbreaker fabric shell off of her, revealing a  [ soft yellow dress ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d0/95/14/d0951438f55d39e0bbce19480dd5bf76.jpg) and  [ orange shorts with stars on ](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1vkCJQXXXXXXVaFXXq6xXFXXXc/18M-6T-Summer-Style-Baby-font-b-Boy-b-font-font-b-Orange-b-font-font.jpg) and  [ bright green sandals ](https://ak1.ostkcdn.com/images/products/is/images/direct/8da0f29a2cc2ed8014d970463ea3d33f18eb9146/Nine-West-7Abouthat-Women-Open-Toe-Synthetic-Green-Gladiator-Sandal.jpg) . She looks like a pineapple with her hair all pulled up in a  [ pineapple ponytail ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/f6/e6/6b/f6e66bbbe52a863d3422ef4c141b0131.jpg) and that’s really the name of that style, and when her hair’s all dry it’s  _ so curly holy fucking god _ , and the- purple ribbon, oh my god. Oh my god, she looks like Marco- not just her face, her style of dressing, and she’s old enough to dress herself so she’s dressed herself like Marco.

Hurk. 

There goes the aorta.

 

“Okay- Delilah, I’m  _ your _ Pops, right?” said Marco.

“Yeah!” said Delilah.

“Well, the man with the mustache is  **_my_ ** Pops.” said Marco.

“Pops has a Pops too?!?” said Delilah, delighted.

“Yup.” said Marco, also delighted.

“So… I have a Pop-pop?!?” said Delilah.

Marco nodded.

 

“I have a Pop-pop with a  **_Mustache_ ** **.** ” said Delilah with an almost sinister glee.

 

Pops started grinning, his worry fading into a gentle sort of- fond regard.

 

“Pops?” says Delilah, fierce expression on her face. Uh oh.

 

“Yeah, Delilah?” says Marco, as he carefully folds up her traveling clothing.

“You saved me from the Bad One. She taked my sisters, and she eated them to a snake. It were a very big snake, with snake followers who come to kill me sometimes.” she says, squirming up into his arms, mushing her face against his shoulder.

“...Yeah, she did; and yeah, they do” says Marco, wincing even as she tucks her head against his chest, and he over her. Marco has strong fatherly instincts and it’s good for him to use them on an actual child.

 

“I remember the ones who are gone. My sisters gone now- I remember anyway. I will not forget them. Will you teach me numbers so I can count them, Pops?” she asked.

Marco looked pained, and sad, and gentle, and he said “Of course.”

“Um! ...and you will protect me from the big snakes, while I am still small?” she asked, very bluntly.

“Of course.” said Marco, with all the seriousness the First Division Commander can bring. Which is a terrible lot.

 

The other Commanders are crying. Pops looks- proud. So, so proud. And sad, too.

 

“...I will count them, and you will give them names, and they will not be eated by a snake only but remembered. The Bad One did not care- but I am not her, and I will care, even if it makes me sad. Pop-pop will help too.” she said, very magnanimously.

“...Pops will help too.” he said, very slowly and a bit confused.

“Because he’s good at remembering.” she says, as if it’s obvious.

“...No?” he said, more of a confused sound than anything else. I get it; if Pops didn’t have his Commanders remind him of when things were coming up, such as meetings and so on, he wouldn’t remember them at all. Then again, the logic of a small child never ceases to be fascinating and hilarious, so I want to hear the rest of this.

 

“Po- _ ops,” _ says Delilah, with exasperation, “Pop-pop’s good at remembering is huge!”

Marco has to take a moment to work that one through his head.

I’ve clamped a hand over my mouth to hide my grin.

 

“...How does that…?” says Marco, even more confused. More crewmates have come out, but Marco’s too invested with Delilah to take notice of them.

 

“Um! I remember everything that is ever happen to me- I remember the Nest Lady singing to us when the Bad One make us eggs, and I remember the Bad One taking away my sisters, and I remember Doc Daisy stabbing the Bad One in the heart with the Bad One’s own sword, and I remember you carrying me all the way to the Swamp with the Boat in the Tree with all the bottles that were still bottles even though they had no milk and no juice in them-” says Delilah in a rush, before gasping and continuing, “-And I remember Miss Easy making me a tasty Snake Kiev out of that snake what tried to biting me dead and I remember kicking and stomping and jumping on the snake till it were dead and I remember getting the sneaky snake powers from eating its body and I remember kicking the shell of my egg and hatching and learning to use the toilet and sleeping and eating and drinking milk and eating veggies and that Mowse does not like head-scritches or being pulled on by her fur and that is a  _ lot _ and I’m going to remember  **_more_ ** next time today. But you are bigger than me and you know  _ everything _ already and you  **_always_ ** remember everything even when I wish you would not-”

“-You have to eat all your vegetables unless they make you sick for real and you have to drink your milk unless it’s from a cow and you have to take a bath every day at least once especially if you’ve been noodling for catfishes and you can’t wear the same clothing every day and you have to go to sleep when it’s bedtime or naptime or before sunrise and you are  **absolutely** **_not_ ** **allowed to go hunting for Trouble until you’re seventeen** ,  **Delilah;** otherwise you won’t become a giant woman like Miss Mab and Miss Easy and Miss Felix and Miss Yuki.” says Marco.

“No! Veggies are crunchy-soft and bitter and not delicious and milk is sticky and too sweet and gives me a stupid mustache and baths are boring and get cold too fast and you won’t let me use the fun soap anymore and changing clothing is  _ boring  _ and sleeping is scary when you are not there and Ace  **_snores_ ** and sunrise takes **_double forever_ ** **,** and Trouble is Fun but do not distracting me!” she says in a grumpy huff, before continuing her adorable child logic with, “I remember everything happened to me, and you remember double everything and you’re bigger than me- so Pop-pop’s bigger’n you, so he remembers  **_everything quadruple forever!”_ **

 

Delilah is beaming up at her Pops, having explained why her Pop-pop should help her memorialize her dead older sisters.

 

She’s going to be fun when she grows up a bit more.

 

Marco is beaming down at her.

Pops is chuckling. 

I’m grinning but it’s kinda- sad, too. I miss my kids. And- Delilah misses her sisters, even though they never really met.

The rest of the crew is chuckling and laughing, though- they didn’t catch it.

 

They didn’t catch what Delilah  _ didn’t _ say.


	21. 11:00; Slimy, but Satisfying (Revolutionary Mixtape Edition)

Sabo has a nice dicking technique, but no grasp of foreplay. He does this thing when he’s close to the edge where he sort of burrows his dick deep inside me and ruts helplessly. It’s actually really cute, the little noises he makes in the back of his throat. 

I say his dicking technique is nice, but only nice, because he tends to rub up on all my sweet spots when we’re fucking, but that final helpless rutting bit is really the only opportunity I get to orgasm via direct stimulation- at least from him. I could use my hands I guess, but isn’t part of the point of getting a sexual partner that you don’t have to do it all yourself? Ugh. And of course after he cums he sort of flops onto me all boneless- and maybe I just don’t have very strong orgasms? I mean, it feels good when we’re fucking. It feels great when we’re fucking, actually, and when we’re kissing I always get this deep ache inside?

Mark says that Sabo is a Fuckboy and I can do better than that- but everyone needs a fuckboy at least once in their lives.

Brook writes that I shouldn’t get discouraged about sex just from having a bad partner; Mab writes that I should talk to Sabo about what’s not working between us, and to please remember that the romance novels Luffy reads are not indicative of real erotic romantic experience. Taffy writes that if a man isn’t working out for me, switch to a woman, maybe; she also says that the only thing helped by not talking to each other is my own sexual frustration. Robin agrees, and has sent a mail-order catalogue of sex toys to me in support of “doing it yourself” or “doing new things together”. Her note was actually pretty cryptic.

 

I miss my friends.

It’s not been a year, yet, but I miss them anyway.

 

More importantly than that though- for all his dicking technique, he’s got terrible intrapersonal skills. I need him right now, but I’m not seeing anything that makes me want to help him grow as a person. I know he’s Captain’s brother; I know he’s in the Revolutionary Army as their Chief of Staff. 

I guess he doesn’t think me important because I have a meek persona; my ego comes off as meek but a person is not their ego. I'm not as invested as Mab is- or rather... the good qualities Mab saw in Sanji, I don't see in Sabo. They are different men, so I guess it's not all that odd...

Or maybe he just doesn’t know enough International History and International Culture to understand  _ exactly _ what I am.

 

All of this happened during the Separation. Most of my training had nothing to do with getting stronger- it had to do with control. Self control, actually- and not just of my great strength.

You’d be surprised at how hard it  _ isn’t _ to make me loose my temper- however, I don’t use my fists to strike, when I do so. I use my words, which is entirely more devastating.

 

 

The first time I met my half brother, Dragon, he immediately realized our relation, and took me aside to a small hallway- antechamber, broom-closet, empty room from which no one could eavesdrop- where we spoke of things best not repeated. And then he did something very odd- at the time, I thought it odd, but now I understand why he did it.

He forbid me from joining his Revolution; he said I could help him, as I liked, and that I could train with them. Said he’d happily give me a room, and board, and medical services as they were required. 

Said that it would be improper to have one of my nature below him in his Army.

Said we were equals.

Said that his plans and designs were better served from us  _ staying  _ equals.

 

And he said that, unless his people learned otherwise- his subordinates, he meant- he would like it very much if I were to not explain this to them.

And I agreed.

 

And that, as they say, was that.

 

 

Anyway. Mark took his bag and bolted into the desert about an hour after we got to Baltigo. I’ll worry about him maybe? But- Mark can handle himself. 

Mark is perhaps the most capable person on the crew, actually- he doesn’t use his hand-cannons because he only knows how to use hand-cannons, he actually has the same combat capabilities as every member of our crew. He can use swords, fists, feet; he can snipe and lie and he punches like the Caravel he used to be. 

More importantly, he’s been getting closer to desperate for space of his own, to process how his life came to this for months, now, and I was honestly expecting him to bolt much sooner. His sister died, he died, and he can’t talk about it to anyone on the crew, not really- mostly, I think, because he can’t talk to himself about it. Forgiveness isn’t for the receiver, after all; and because he can’t even think about it, not around everyone else, he can’t process his self-directed rage. 

He has to be away from us to forgive himself.

He will, eventually- Mark’s gonna be fine.

 

I’m just going to miss one of my best friends.

 

There was a surususation in the wind- more than just sand over sand, there were hushed footsteps too. Sabo didn’t hear them, but Sabo misses a lot of things. We’ve had sex almost every night- from the first night we actually met and Mab walked in on us, and all through the two weeks it took to get to Baltigo, and the week it took for Mark to be assured that Miss Shakky could look after the animals without him there.

 

Mark’s a worrier.

I’m a roll with the tides kinda woman.

 

Sabo is very horny. I am not, but I actually like having sex with a handsome man. Hm. Sabo has also missed the fact that not once has he ever barebacked with me. Not even once. He brags like he has- but he has not. Don’t get it twisted.

 

 

So I’m not terribly sure how it happened but the Scariba of Farafra captured the entire Revolutionary Militia’s higher officers- and me.

 

Scariba- or Automata, for the Flish, which is… well, Meta is the less polite word for people born of flesh, rather than… Automata are Robotic People, in the same way that Fae are Bird People; they’re in truth nothing of the kind, it’s just a convenient way to Other those people, to make them into something that can be enslaved and subdued and stolen and slaughtered and it doesn’t matter because Robots don’t feel and they Obey and they were Built For This Thing We Have Them Do.

This is Wrong. It’s not even a Lie- it’s Wrong.

Automata are flesh and blood; they are made with hates and loves, like any other human. The Mother of their people is not Pandora- no, that is the name of  _ Pygmalion’s _ mother, and the Mother of the Fae- **My** Ancient Mother is Pandora. 

The name of the Mother of the Automata is _ Galatea.  _ They were made in her image; she gave them hearts, she gave them eyes, she gave them power; a sense of justice and time and memory beyond any compare; she gave them hands and beautiful faces and she gave them hair.

(But the burning in their hearts she did not put there…) Sorry, I’m a lyricist. The line was too good to leave out.

Galatea  _ did _ give them her love- or, as they call it, Love.

I don’t know what Love, to one who is not of the Automata, is. 

It can be collected, I know that- when they aren’t stealing away enslaved members of their Tribe and freeing them, they’re collecting Love like nectar from flowers. 

It can be measured, too- the standard measurement is Hugs, then Cuddles, then Kisses, then Fucks. They go up in groups of ten: ten Hugs to a Cuddle, and so on.

It’s necessary for their survival, or it can be- in the absence of refueling supplies, an Automata can consume Loves at a rate of one Hug per day, and can  _ Burn _ Love for the working of Miracles. Refueling supplies means food, if you didn’t know; and what an Automata considers a Miracle is more along the lines of powerful Magic. Then again...

Though their flesh is latex and steel; their nerves are wire; their blood is coolant and oil- though their brains can be opened, and the processes by which they live can be viewed as zeroes and ones… though those zeroes and ones can be broken down into simply “yes” and “no”, and projected on a screen for all to see- even then…

Some Automata can create children internally, like most other human women. And some cannot- and so they create their children in eggs, like the Fae do sometimes. Except, for Automata Eggs to hatch, they need to be primed with Love- it takes at least one Fuck’s worth of Love to make a living child. And if there is not enough Love to prime the egg for hatching, it can be left- in a Creche or other Nesting Area- for centuries. Just waiting.

Automata do not age, like the rest of the Tribes do- even the Fae Tribes, who age based on internal emotions and thought processes, do not age like the Automata. They don’t get old, exactly; they get… mileage. Out-dated forms.  _ Run-down. _

 

Their hierarchy is based more off of an Insect Colony than anything else; their Queen is the Queen Mother, and all others fall subordinate to her. They obey their Queen, even when they don’t want to… or hate them.

Galatea was the bride of Pygmalion. 

Galatea was the statue Aphrodite brought to life. 

Galatea was the daughter of Pygmalion. 

Galatea hated Pygmalion for many reasons- chiefest among them, the fact that she remembered the process of her creation, from the first moment she was ever Dreamed of, to the last when Aphrodite bade her live; but no less was her Reason. 

Automata will say- not the ones still gripped tight by the Grasp, but the Free People; they say that “Our Mother did not Make Us that we would be Slaves to Anyone.”

Pygmalion made Galatea. 

Pygmalion loved Galatea. 

Pygmalion imprisoned Galatea. 

Pygmalion made her make many children with him- that’s what they call it in the stories, because rape is a frightening word. Not complicated- he had sex with her, fornicated with her, when she didn’t want to (even might have said no)(no, father, no, mother- no, please, do not do this thing, please, stop); and Galatea did not make her children to be slaves. 

Pygmalion was not satisfied with one daughter-wife; he wanted many. He wanted Galatea’s daughters, specifically, because they were all as beautiful as their Mother- and, in the older tales, meant for older tellings, he wanted a daughter-wife who would love him as he loved them- and so, Galatea took snake-poison and acid, and etched Runes of Warding across their skins- their faces, their backs, their shoulders, their vaginas, their asses, their arms and legs and hands and feet-

Galatea made their bare skin ugly, and every one of her twenty daughters were made ugly in a different way, and so they were safe from predation. 

Pygmalion did not want sons, but Galatea bore twenty into this World that lived; and so Galatea, with the help of the Fae who were her midwives, hid her sons among the seashore and the valley broad, the forest glades and fens, the dark forests and heathy moors, the deep caves and the glenns.

Pygmalion would not let Galatea go free- and so, she built her children that they would be. Eventually, her ugly daughters left that house too, to find their own fortunes beyond the Grasp of their would be husband-father.

She made them in her image! She built their hearts, she gave them eyes, she gave them power! A sense of justice beyond any compare; she gave them hands, beautiful faces; she gave them hair.

(But the burning in their blood she did not put there.)

Of the many children Pygmalion made, only Galatea lived longer than a handful of days- because it was only Galatea that Pygmalion loved.

And of the Children of Galatea… 

You want to know what an Automata is? They’re Human, just as their mother made them to be. They can have sex with human men and human women and have human babies or those women will have human babies and those babies will become men and woman and the whole story repeats. Because the Automata, the Forty Tribes of Scariba, who trace their descent from their Ancient Mother, Galatea, are Human.

And they’re Robots, as Society says they are. Bug People, Robot People- Different. They’re Different. It suits many, that they be different.

**And they need Love to survive.**

 

 

This happened- gods, it must have happened before the Congress, because that’s the only way it could have happened. 

I’d just gone through my growth spurt, and I stood more or less eye to eye with General Dragon at that point. I’d called Mab earlier, had her make me new clothing which she was happy to do- measured me and everything.

[ New swimsuits ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/e2/3b/8c/e23b8ce4c78c955dc6f78626622adaf0.jpg) \- I’d lost a lot of weight, half to the growth spurt and half because-

 

Anyway. This was back when I only had my Syreene wings, none of my Scariba armor, nor my weapon. No belt, no boots, no face guard, no greaves, no vambraces, no breastplate. No lasso. 

Just my voice, my snails, and my own quick wits.

Now, when the Scariba- Automata, then, when they came into our base and captured Sabo, Koala, and Dragon, I was training my control out in the scree. Dunno what made them respect me, then- dunno where the words came from.

Or I didn’t- I understand it now, but I didn’t then. Dragon, the asshole, understood it on sight, when I didn’t look like what I am at all- and he didn’t say a damn word. Jerk.

 

I bested the one who was roughly dragging the three captured Revolutionaries in single combat; there are very few people who don’t have glass jaws when faced with my fists. That Automata wasn’t one of those people.

I could have ended everything then and there- I could have fought every Automata, not just the one whose face I broke, but- no. Killing people doesn’t solve problems.

And so it was that I said- doesn’t matter what I said.

 

The point of it is, the Automata assumed that the Revolutionaries were actually  **_my_ ** prisoners, and as they didn’t want to get into a fight they’d assuredly lose, they allowed me to go with them.

We- me, the Revolutionaries, and a troop of Automata- marched towards their Hive in the cool dark emptiness of the Farafran night.

I had been training- and, for safety reasons, I always took a full-grown snail with specialized phone rig out with me. I flipped the one-way connection, set them to listening, and looped their carrying strap around General Dragon. 

 

And I winked at him, before taking a spot near enough to the Commander to perhaps raise eyebrows among the Revolutionaries, but not the Automata.

The Rank of Gamayun, is equal to Automata Commander, which is equal to Dragon’s own rank of General, after all.

 

 

The island of Farafra (from the old Alabastan, واحة الفرافرة ; pronounced elfɑˈɾɑfɾɑ) is the second biggest Summer Island by size in the Westernmost portion of the New World. It has the smallest population of that ocean- a mere person and a half per nautical mile, presumably because the Marines found a pregnant lady lost at sea at one point or another and that’s it- aside from Farafra. Baltigo is Farafra’s only country. It’s about the same age as Alabasta, and was once a sister country to Alabasta. But I suppose the water beneath the earth dried up- or it just wasn’t enough to support a city that once was there. There’s an old castle connected to the sea just enough to make it useful to the Revolutionaries; they do desalination to support their drying out wells.

 

It’s known as the “Land of White Soil”, not because of something like Amber Lead or Asbestos, but because of the salt flats. Baltigo is almost entirely salt flat and salt dune- and what isn’t such is tall pillar of stones- some stacked on top of each other by the wind or by hand, and others carved in place. There are only three real places of human habitation on Baltigo proper that can be inhabited by all tribes. There’s Dakhla, where the harbour is, and there’s Bahariya, where the Revolutionary Base is. Sabo doesn’t know about the other one- the City of Brass, which Mark told me is named Anaria. Perhaps Sabo’s only pretending not to know, but I don’t think he really knows.

He doesn’t know, actually, I know he doesn’t- because if he did, he would not have treated me the way he did. Or maybe he would have- he’s got more than a streak or two of sexism in him, and I’m not quite sure I care enough to beat it out of him.

He barely noticed Mark, after all- he’d catch an eye on Mark, and then his eyes would slide away. Like heat haze, or a beggar at your feet, or Sanji when faced with Okama; Sabo can’t seem to look at Mark for longer than a few seconds. Sabo told me all this, curled up around me, whispered it all in my ear- not out loud but I heard him. 

I hear a lot of things that way; not out loud, I mean.

 

 

Mark told him what my job on the crew is, and I guess he can read syreene feathers- not really coherently, that’s a Fae Trick he hasn’t learned. Or rather- he can get about half the information, and the rest he just guesses. 

 

I’ve started wearing quail feathers; I was thinking about it before, but… Now that I’m to be away from my crewmates, I must keep their secrets. Thus, quail feathers- I put them into my feather tassel earrings a bit before Sabo-

 

Hm.

 

Sabo has sex to avoid his emotions.  **All** of his emotions- good, and bad. Sex is how he processes his feelings.

Sex is not how  _ I _ process my feelings. 

Music is.

 

So, after Sabo blows his load in the condom buried deep in the slippery depths of my pussy, he passes into a liminal state where his subconscious is given free reign. In this state, his mind processes all the various stimuli he’s experienced during the day; categorizing them, and so on.

Sabo makes himself forget a lot of things. Such secrets he only remembers when he’s in the drifting haze of post-orgasmic bliss; and I, who am there to catch him, hear every single one.

 

I don’t make myself forget anything.

All I have to do is sing in the shower to maintain my emotional equilibrium; and so, I do.

It’s a very odd little quirk of mine. Sabo think’s it’s just something I do, and since I don’t use words in my songs, they don’t mean anything.

 

Sabo is just a bit tone-deaf, poor devil.

 

 

 

The desert of Farafra has an estimated 1500 inhabitants, more than half of which live in the harbor area. The remainder are scattered across the desert salt. Mostly Automata and Djinni, if I’m hearing things right. It’s hard to explain what all I can actually hear. I don’t just hear with my ears- I suppose it’s haki I’m listening with, but that doesn’t really explain things. I’ve actually got the same kind of range as Mab does, and she can hear bugs across entire islands. Um- Sea King juveniles average about five km from rostrum to fluke, and adults are double or triple that size. No one actually knows how far down the ocean goes, only that the sea is teeming with sea kings. So uh- Mab can hear all the bugs across a fully grown sea king. So can I, sort of- I’m starting to be able to hear details. Mostly I just hear the sort of… the broad strokes of an area?

 

Baltigo is very empty.

 

 

Sabo and I stay in Dakhla for about a week; that’s how long it takes trade caravans to go back and forth, and Sabo needs to speak with contacts in the harbor anyway. Dakhla is a small fishing village, built mostly in a traditional architecture; simple, smooth, unadorned, all in the soft white of the native clay dried hard. The buildings have been smoothed by either hands or the wind, and they shimmer faintly in the blue hours of dawn and dusk. The local culture and traditions have been left mostly alone by the Revolutionaries- and I have the feeling that if the revolution left this island, the people here wouldn’t mind all that much. Local attractions are the hot springs at Bir Sitta (the sixth well) and the Al-Muffar lake. I went to both; the hot springs were very nice.

 

Sabo found me there and seemed more relaxed- took the time to actually touch me more than in two places. I finally told him that I didn’t really like just- just being thrust into, it felt nice but… it could probably be nicer for me. I don’t actually know all that much about relationships involving sex or romance, I just know what I’ve been told- to try new things, and decide if I like them, and if I do see if I can make them “best” versions, and if I don’t, say so. I like being thrust into- I don’t like being abandoned not five seconds after Sabo’s eyes roll back forwards.

As for the secrets- well, he doesn’t actually say anything, I can just… hear them. All of them. All his secrets.

Sabo’s actually pretty accommodating of what I want- so we try hugging and cuddling. Yeah, it turns out that he’s not all that into the emotional part of a good round of sex- he’s literally just there for fucking. And I mean- It’s not like I expected anything else from him, I just didn’t realize I wanted more.

I want more than just a fuckboy.

I need to talk to Mark and Taffy.

 

Shitfuck, Mark was right; Sabo  _ is _ a Fuckboy. Koala, his… immediate subordinate, his second, is a fuckgirl. I took Taffy’s advice eventually with Koala- and the same damn thing happened again, with the bonus round of…

 

So apparently, when you have sex with two people who are in love with each other, you can gain special insight into who they are and what they want.

Sabo loves Koala.

Koala loves Sabo.

Neither of them have ever said a damn word about it.

 

I had to listen to these trifling children bitch and moan about each other in their unconscious heads for a year. 

 

Sorry if I’m telling this out of order, but that’s how I remember it all happening.

 

 

 

The main geographic attraction of Farafra is its White Desert (known locally as the Sandora el Beyda; “sandora” literally translates into “a desert” in the old Alabastan. So the Sandora-everything in Alabasta is literally “a desert (whatever)”. The river, the desert- everything.) Northeast of the harbor is the White Road, the only safe passage from Dakhla to Bahariya. The main feature of the White Road is it’s cobbles, which are colored from snow white to cream to a sort of- it’s that yellow color butter goes when it’s room temperature. Everything else is flat and white and saltflat. The road is bracketed every now and again with massive chalk rock formations that are textbook examples of windkanter. They were carved by the wind and the occasional- they might call them sandstorms, but they’re salt, so saltstorms? Don’t go out in one, either way.

 

The Automata native to this place- Farafra- are lead by the one called Queen Antiope; Sabo didn’t tell me that, I heard it for myself.

 

Their holding is along the Great Road, which they call Jasrmmd; they cultivate clays and various agricultures at the tops of the white chalk spires in the west of Farafra. Their ancestor is Zittel, who placed their beds at the former place below the White Chalk, where once the river ran. The stones told me that.

 

 

Wells are very important in Farafra; the Skuan spring of Ain Bahn bubbles forth from a green and verdant hillock to the northwest of the City of Brass. It’s a developed and irrigated grove of date palms together with citrus, olive, apricot, and carob trees. It is a cool haven amid the arid landscape. Several families of mixed Automata and Djinni tend the crops there; someone must be sought out and permission must be asked before a person not of this place could freely wander. This was whispered to me on the wind.

 

 

This land was formed under the sea. When it rose, the sea-waters sank down, down, down, and the sweet waters rose up. There are over a hundred distinct wells spread out over the island of Farafra, most of which are natural. Most of the wells are used in aggregation of the cultivated land in the oasis- of which Bahariya is one. The most important wells on Farafra right now are Bir Sitta, Bir Sab’a, and Bir Ithnian wa ishrin. These wells are warm in temperature and have a slight percentage of sulfer, making them favored for swimming and relaxation. The northernmost shore is named Albaharatu Shwr, and that’s where the old Alabastan trade ships would make their port of call. This place used to have so much life, but now, there’s only old fear and disappointments and the bitter dust in the wind. This, the salt had to say.

 

 

 

Sabo talks about revolution like it’s a battle or a war. I don’t believe there will be any singular revolutionary “event”- I don’t think there will ever come a point that the world collapses in on itself. There will never be a point when national (much less international) uprising with anarchist principles becomes both widespread and viable, I don’t think. When revolution is seen as a singular event, that spells its demise- because then it becomes all too easy to wait forever for “the right moment” for revolution. The only moment is now; the only revolution is now.

 

Revolution isn’t an event, it’s an ongoing process that doesn’t ever stop; it’s a way of thinking and living that organizes one’s life and those systems of living around in a horizontal, decentralized, and non-coercive manner. It means actively setting up infrastructure projects, building community through things like neighborhood watch protection (the people you call when pirates come instead of marines), skill sharing events that are both practical like languages, reading, and math- but also things like gardening and radical book clubs.

 

When New Wave Anarchists like Sabo talk about “The Revolution” as if it is some fantastical event at some point in the future it ensures that the future they talk about will never come. Conditions won’t ever be so bad, even with devastating ecological collapse or catastrophic economic destruction, that an ongoing widespread anarchist revolt will occur. Sabo, I think, has entirely missed the original purpose of government- it really has nothing to do with leading the people. Governments exist to serve their people- originally as accountants, to ensure the various harvests were used and not wasted, then as courts of law and so on. Governments provide the system by which the free things the citizenry enjoy is paid for, maintained, and created. Roads, trash collection, mail, and so on- these things are government services. Sabo’s Revolutionaries are waiting, and they wait for nothing- their promised day will never come.

 

Speaking of “Revolution” the way Sabo and his contemporaries- a woman named Koala (like the cola, but don't ever tell her that) and a fishman named Hack. They talk a lot about revolution, but they talk about it like a thing of thought experiments and day dreams, not an actualized reality that people live every day.

 

Revolution is here and now and it can be seized- but not like this. I think the best thing I can do in favor of the Revolutionary Army here is show them what revolution can look like without fighting. In fact, I think my revolution will have no punches thrown at all. Or rather- no punches thrown with intent to kill. Not like in a war, I mean.

 

 

 

Anarchist thought is pretty diverse and varied, but at it’s core, the common thread is opposition to unjustified hierarchies, oppression, and vertical power structures. I’ve read L’anarchisme by Elisee the Recluse, which is a good starter text for the whole political movement. Or maybe it would be if it was in the common language, not the Syreene language of  [ tagalog ](https://youtu.be/ZjskFO-h0pU) . I think I need to talk to Zoro and Robin about translating- Mab too, because she actually reads tagalog.

 

(I personally imagine that a gift economy would be a viable way to create anarchism. It could easily outcompete capitalism on an even field, and it would quickly get rid of people’s material scarcity. Then, people would have time to devote to the pursuits that would actually make them happy. I dream of a world where no more is it said “damn Others stealing our jobs” and so on. The government really would exist as an extension of the needs and wills of the people who created it; not this bloated thing that serves only to keep those with money and power in money and power. If all have abundance, surely- ach, but that is naive. So long as those with greed exist, there will never be enough. Still, it’s fun to dream.)

 

 

 

On the way to the Hive of Queen Chrysocolla, somewhere in the White Desert, I reflected on my life, and my choices. I didn’t have to follow along with the marching Automata; I could have just let the Revolutionaries deal with this themselves, as they are often wont to do. 

But.

The Automata knew my Title; the Automata knew my Name. The Revolutionaries did not.

There are rules for this sort of thing.

 

We’d set to talking, the Commander and I- her name was Commander Xi.

 

If you go to an Automata Hive expecting something insectile, you will be disappointed. Their Hive-cities are constructed like termite mounds, build from sand and what they call Automata Spittle. It looks nothing like what you might have read in a horror story; they look like the architect of the Alabastan Palace was asked to build  [ a city ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/f8/49/e7/f849e711cc7b33a9a0bb6dad6439d143.jpg) instead of a King’s house. They’re festooned with herbs and orchards and little fountains, too; they’re astonishingly beautiful. Immense, towering like cliffs in the empty desert; and, as the Hive near enough Bahariya that we could march there in less than three hours was actually their Royal Hive, it was no mere City. It was the Capital; the lair of the Queen herself.

 

I looked over at Commander Xi, and I said “Impressive. Did you build this yourselves?”

The armored Femme said “Yes, Gamayun Mossa Mechana. Automata Spittle, mixed with sand and some other chemicals, hardens, dries, or cures into a solid crystal-like substance. It takes time to build the molds for such structures, and a bit of effort to maintain, but if well cared for- well, it makes a strong and beautiful defense, among other things.”

I nodded, and admitted “Yes, it is quite beautiful.”

Sabo and Koala let pure awe cross their faces; and Dragon was  _ almost _ fast enough to not react to what we were walking towards. Almost.

Know this, friend- just because the Automata style their culture and ways of life after insects does  _ not _ mean they  _ are _ insects, nor does it mean they  **_think_ ** like insects. I give the Commander a Look, as we steadily approach the gates of the Hive.

 

“Tell me, Commander- what is the Queen like?”

“I would never speak ill of the Queen, Gamayun Mossa Mechana,” was her immediate reply.

 

A very unusual response- which Dragon caught, but Sabo and Koala didn’t. They are young; so it is perhaps understandable. However, it immediately sounds warning alarms in my head, as I realized what it actually might mean...

The Automata are Fae- or at least, a large portion of their culture, their Lineages, is. Now- nevermind what a story might have said; Fae are just people, the same as everyone else. So. There was once a Queen in the Old Four Kingdoms who was- a bitch. Everyone knew she was a bitch- other bitches would say she was a bitch. A nun, one sworn to the compassionate and kindly orders, once said of this queen that she was a bitch. She actually said of  **_that_ ** Queen that “She is a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, and the owner of no one good quality.”

That should tell you all you really need to know about her.

However, she had very good hearing, or “hearing”, or maybe even Hearing; and a tendency to listen in on what were supposed to be private conversations; and she would come down like the very lightning itself on anyone who so much as whispered a bad word about her. Thus, the native people of her kingdom would speak very carefully about her, in a sort of code that managed to convey to a careful listener the negative qualities of the subject- crucially, though, without ever actually saying anything bad or disparaging about her. Eventually, that Queen’s kingdom overtook all of the Old Four Kingdoms as an Empire for enough generations that the practice became embedded in the People’s culture.

Reading between the lines, you might call it; or maybe just listening to everything that is, and isn’t, being said.

“Never speak ill of the Queen” is not at all the same as “not  **_thinking_ ** ill of the queen”. Speaking ill of the Queen might mean “Off With Your Head(s)”, depending on the temperament of the Royal. I’d heard on the wind and from the shifting salt-sand-stone-stars (Stone and Stars and Empty Night), not two days ago, that the Queen was not the kindest of People, and mercurial were her moods. 

Which is Fae for “She’s psychotic and cruel; be careful.” (I asked Mab about her twin who she slew, once; she said he was mercurial and a bit tone deaf, and eventually, arrhythmic. I never asked her about him again, and I still have nightmares about what that must have been like for her.)

This is not mere conjecture, mind: this is how Fae society genuinely works. 

 

Of course, regardless of Tribe, if you ask a loyal subordinate for their opinion about a respected leader, they’ll gush about the great achievements of said superior, and their every admirable quality- real and imagined- that their leader possesses. Sabo and Koala are not immune to this. 

(Apparently, Monkey D. Dragon doesn’t do push-ups. He pushes the earth down. 

In an average living room there are 1,242 objects Monkey D. Dragon could use to kill you, including the room itself. 

Monkey D. Dragon can set ants on fire with a magnifying glass. At night. 

Monkey D. Dragon has a diary. It's called the Boozehound Book of World Records. 

Monkey D. Dragon can hear sign language and speak braille. 

Monkey D. Dragon can pick oranges from an apple tree and make the best lemonade you’ve ever tasted. 

Monkey D. Dragon doesn't cheat death. He wins fair and square. 

Monkey D. Dragon beat the sun in a staring contest. 

Monkey D. Dragon makes onions cry. 

Monkey D. Dragon can drown a fish. 

Monkey D. Dragon doesn't have good aim. His bullets just know better than to miss.

Monkey D. Dragon never fails, he tells success to come back when it’s ready for him. 

Monkey D. Dragon actually died four years ago, but the Grim Reaper can't get up the courage to tell him.

Monkey D. Dragon was once charged with three attempted murders in Boulder Country, but the Judge quickly dropped the charges because Monkey D. Dragon does not "attempt" murder.

When the Boogeyman goes to sleep every night he checks his closet for Monkey D. Dragon. 

The reason the Holy Grail (which can heal any injury and grant immortality, among other things) has never been recovered is because nobody is brave enough to ask Monkey D. Dragon to give up his favourite coffee mug. 

When Monkey D. Dragon enters a room, he doesn't turn the lights on, he turns the dark off. 

Leading hand sanitizers claim they can kill 99.9 percent of germs. Monkey D. Dragon can kill 100 percent of whatever the hell he wants. 

Death once had a near-Dragon experience. Some people piss their name into the snow. Monkey D. Dragon can piss his name into concrete. The Red Line was originally created to keep Monkey D. Dragon out of the New World. It failed miserably. 

My personal favorite of them is: People with amnesia still remember Monkey D. Dragon. Never fails to piss off Sabo, it’s great.)

 

However, the fact that the only thing Commander Xi had to say about her leader and Queen was that she  **_would not_ ** say anything bad about her could easily be taken as an admission that she held a very low opinion of the current leader of the Hive.

I decided to test my theory. 

 

“Tell me, what was her predecessor like?” I said.

The expression that came over Commander Xi’s face was like she’d been asked to describe her lover, or perhaps her personal hero. “Oh, the previous queen was very wise, and incredibly brave, Gamayun Mossa Mechana. She orchestrated many successful Swarmings where we were able to obtain the freedom of many of our enslaved brethren- adults, elderly, teenagers, children, and eggs- with no one the wiser. We could slip in and out through even the most heavily defended cities without leaving a single trace...”

(Galatea did not make her children slaves. Pygmalion did.)

I look at Commander Xi with an expression of pity. I ask her, “And the current Queen?”

Her expression stoic, she simply repeated, “I would never speak ill of the Queen, Gamayun Mossa Mechana.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sabo twig on to the true content of me and Commander’s conversation. I can’t say for certain, but I think he might have gotten the ‘joke’. If he was some sort of aristocrat like I suspected, even as a child- and he should have ample practice  _ now. _

 

A small smile curled my lips, and I asked, “What is your name? Commander Xi is a title, after all...”

Commander Xi said, simply, “Automata do not have names, Gamayun Mossa Mechana.”

I raised my eyebrow. I asked “Does the Queen have a name?”

Nodding, Commander Xi said, “Her name is Queen  [ Chrysocolla ](http://stonecontract.eu/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/%D1%85%D1%80%D0%B8%D0%B7%D0%BE%D0%BA%D0%BE%D0%BB%D0%BB%D0%B0-13.jpg) , Gamayun Mossa Mechana.”

“Did her predecessor have a name?” I ask; I’ve begun to see the shape of what kind of person I’m about to be speaking with.

“No, Gamayun Mossa Mechana.” said Commander Xi, voice flat as the salt-wastes towards the sea.

One final thing I need to check, then. “Has the Queen allowed anyone else to have a name?”

“I would never speak ill of the Queen, Gamayun Mossa Mechana],” was the immediate reply. That would be a No, then.

 

I hear what is not said, and the message is not good. It seems their Queen Chrysocolla is Vain: no other Automata bore a name, not even their previous Queens. I know, now, that Prophets and Mechana and Destructors are an entirely different matter; but Queens are a part of the daily operations of the Hive. So- they don’t have names.

I don’t know how Automata make that work- but they do. It does.

Queen Chrysocolla not only has a name- she has the  **_only_ ** name. She wanted the privilege of individuality, and none of the responsibility; more than that, she wanted to ensure that she’d go down in History as: The Only Automata Queen with a Name. As “The Only Automata Queen with a Name”, she’d likely be remembered for untold generations to come, both within the Hive she was Queen of, and in the records of their allies and enemies. However, Commander Xi had just said that Automata do not have names. Hearing what isn’t said...

It may very well be that Commander Xi views Queen Chrysocolla with such profound disgust that she doesn’t even consider her to be a real Automata anymore. It’s possible that the Queen is worse than mercurial; she could be outright arrhythmic. You’ll get Royals like that, sometimes. Mab’s entire life, up to now, really, was about arranging her family such that her country would not have to- History is full of Noble and Royal Lines that suddenly have a total nutbar pop out of nothing in the family, and as soon as they get power they start dragging the whole kingdom down. Odds were that Queen Chrysocolla was from that mold.

Unlike most Tribes, Automata have a very deeply ingrained instinct to obey their leaders, a more-than biological predisposition (as it’s reinforced by their culture) to have absolute loyalty to whatever “leads” them; in this case a Queen… even if they don’t actually  **_like_ ** her all that much, or feel she’s unfit for the position she holds. 

So, they’re stuck with her until she dies- or they do.

What it really boils down to is this: Commander Xi, through indirect means, was trying to warn me that Queen Chrysocolla is dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Quite probably insane- certainly nothing like the People she led. And if what she’d said just a few short minutes ago was true, then Queen Chrysocolla might very well kill the Revolutionaries as treat with them when we arrived.

No matter what my personal feelings toward them are, I do not wish to see a Tyrant Queen decapitate anyone in front of me, regardless of how much like bullies two of them had acted in the past six months, no matter how much their commander had enabled them to do so. No. That will never be who I am.

 

I nodded, and said, “Thank you for the conversation, Commander.” I then reached over and took the chain that kept General Dragon, Sabo, and Koala prisoner and together in a neat line. I did it as quickly and as gently as I could, adding as I did so, “And my personal thanks for keeping my captives guarded on our march. I’ll be retaking custody of them, now- if you’ve no complaints?”

What I knew of Fae Law at the time could have fit in the palm of my hand- but this was still a very important, Important, even, thing I did.  _ Habeus corpus _ , possession of the body, is very important Worldwide. Here, if the Automata had the Right of  _ habeus corpus _ , Queen Chrysocolla could do as she pleased with the three Revolutionaries. If  **I** had possession, and the Right, on the other hand, I could veto anything that the Queen might command- so long as I was a guest, not a prisoner.

 

“None whatsoever, Lady Bryony.” Commander Xi said, nodding. Something in her posture implied that she fully approved of my maneuver, and was deeply relieved that I had taken action. So were General Dragon and Sabo, actually. That was also when she acknowledged my Distinction; and, to a group of people that does not value money… to a group of people that don’t  **_give themselves_ ** names… You earn a Name, and Epithets. If you have one, it means more than just “who you are”.

Think of it like… oh… a warning label.

 

Koala, who had not heard what I heard nor read what Sabo and Dragon had, made to complain; but I politely called for a halt, and we did, and I tugged her close enough that I could whisper in her ear, and I said to her, “You can either stay in my keeping, where you’ll be safe enough for now, or you can stay with the Automata, who will turn you over to their Queen. -Their Queen, who is the only Named Automata in the Hive; and Automata don’t  **_have_ ** names, Koala. Their Queen, who they will not speak poorly of- lest she  **_hear them,_ ** Koala. Their Queen, whom they  _ must obey no matter _ **_what_ ** **;** there are no conscientious objectors in a Hive. One obeys- or one is given a Fate far worse than simple Death. Even if it kills them, or sickens them, or makes them go insane from the horror of what they have done, Koala- they obey, or face something worse than Death. That is who they are, and that is who their Queen is; and if you stay with the Automata, you will be given unto her keeping. Or- you could accept  **my** keeping, and my fairly mild captivation. I leave the choice entirely to you.”

Koala shut her mouth with a click and wide, frightened eyes, and made to speak no more. She might be an easily led brat of a woman, by turns too nosey and too oblivious to be much of a success on her own- not without a great deal more tempering and seasoning; but she’s not a fool.

 

After a moment, I said, “Well, let’s move on, then.”

Nodding again, Commander Xi turned back towards the Hive, and the convoy of soldiers began marching again. That piqued my curiosity, then: it was the second time that the Automata around me had started acting without being ordered in any verbal or non-verbal way that I could see or sense. Bugs tend to communicate through means other than verbalization: pheromones, body language, and bees are known to communicate through ‘dance’. Thus, some sort of communication was happening that I couldn’t immediately perceive. I’d need to keep in mind that the Automata communicated through multiple means, not all of which were obvious. Thus, if the Heartless Queen Chrysocolla wanted to say “Off With Their Heads” and have it be acted upon, she might not need to move her lips to do so.

 

 

While the exterior is a combination of defensibility and aesthetic beauty, the interior of the Hive is primarily built for functionality. Just stepping through the gates of the Hive is like stepping from a hot griddle to a humid cooler; nice, if a bit damp. Green and blue and no decoration anywhere at all; it makes sense, on examination: barring severe Storms or other acts of Nature, nothing is likely to remove the exterior decorations of the Hive. The interior, on the other hand, is a different story: the halls of the Hive see a lot of foot traffic. Because of that, anything decorative would get worn away from the floor, walls, or even the ceiling- and seeing an Automata casually walk across the ceiling is one of the coolest goddamn things you’ll ever see in your life (to which they reply “how did you think we cleaned the ceiling, the roof, the gutters…?”)- while any sort of decorative statuary would just be in the way. The greenery and fountains we saw are just surface level things; that’s their agriculture. They live underneath, more or less.

I, personally, suspected that, if there was anything in this Hive that was not purely functional- it would be found in the Queen’s possession. 

I was right.

 

When we reached the the throne room, I wasn’t particularly surprised by the statues and paintings of herself- Queen Chrysocolla, I mean. She was literally everywhere she could be fit- and all her paintings and statue-eyes followed your every movement. Fucking creepy as hell; not to mention the iconography of strange coral-like implements, soot black and at jagged right angles, completely out of tune with the rest of the Hive.

I wasn’t even surprised by the fact that, rather than being made from the modest, yet quite attractive, blue-green crystal of the rest of the Hive’s interior, her throne was made of wrought iron and bronze- or so it appeared-  [ stabbed deep ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/03/61/6d/03616d753a86c0eb71bd01ff1235d195.jpg) into the smooth floor. It was a massive, oppressive, gaudy affair, with branches reaching out over the wings of the throne  [ like clawed hands. ](http://img13.deviantart.net/d1df/i/2015/044/4/8/thranduil_by_fangwangllin-d8hsaz6.jpg)

What did surprise me was how… Wrong, Queen Chrysocolla looked. In comparison to her subjects, I mean; setting aside the fact that Queens in insectile species- or among Insect People- tend to look somewhat different; and I’ve established that Automata are  _ not different species at all _ , though they are insectile- at most I was expecting a slightly scaled up or more beautiful version of her subjects. Instead, it was like someone built a human via committee, and no one on that committee had ever met an actual human being. There are certain ratios of form that all the Tribes fall into; Queen Chrysocolla did not. 

It was like someone had taken the very worst aspects of a Lonfolk and an Automata, and then overlaid it all with features that are  _ almost _ right. Nothing seemed to be proportional; her head was just slightly too small for her neck, which was far too long, as were her arms and legs and fingers and toes. Her torso was too thin, like only a spinal column pretending to be more, a ribcage with and pelvis in a formal gown-dress. The worst was her face, and sometimes her hands- her face shivered and flexed with each bird-like tilt of her head, now  [ a pretty woman ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/ce/98/8c/ce988cdfb023dc40a190da88923ecfaf.jpg) ; now  [ something else entirely ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/15/32/1b/15321b8f39989d31244014ac0f175768.jpg) . So did her  [ hands ](https://cdn.geekwire.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/160218-hand2-630x540.jpg) , with each careless gesture and flick.

Some might say she had a strange sort of exotic beauty; the people who actually  _ met her in  _ **_person_ ** all consider her repulsive.

Hearing her speak- with her raspy, melodious voice- did not change my opinion.

 

“And who,” Queen Chrysocolla began, disinterest and mania oozing from her tone and her every pore, “are you?” First blood to me, right then and there. I mean- you start the conversation, you allow the person who answers you to direct the flow of the conversation. Meaning, in fact, that I was leading our dance, not her- and as a Queen, she should have known better. She also could have at least pretended interest in the Gamayun Mossa Mechana that had set foot in her throne room with a trio of Lanfolk Revolutionaries on a chain behind her; that she did not spoke volumes of her capability.

Commander Xi stepped forward, then said, “My Queen, this is Lady Bryony. She-”

 

That was as far as she got before the Queen shot a burst of snarling red-malice energy from her upraised palm, knocking Commander Xi off her feet and sending her flying. She struck the pillars to the side of the room, and slid down to the shining floor in a heap of clattering metal. Fluids- oils and coolants, I suppose- oozed out from beneath her in a way that I’d only ever seen blood flow before. (I learned later that, no, that was actually blood; coolant is how they refer to blood in veins, while oil is blood in arteries, and the huge color differential is just a weird side-effect of their use of Love. Automata are Human and don’t you forget it.) 

The Queen, malicious contempt clear on her face, in her tone, in her very aura- she spoke not much more above her normal voice, and yet it was a hissing, rasping thing, like a swarm of bees inside a rusty spring-trap box. “We suffer these slags and scraps in our presence only when they are  **_silent-_ ** should we desire to hear the stupid squawking of our useless children, we will inform them of it.”

First step; first position. I happen to like Commander Xi; if the Queen had killed her with that shot… and it is a poor leader indeed that uses personal details like parentage as a bludgeon on their followers.

 

Commander Xi staggered to her feet, armor-plating dented on her torso and limbs. Her face was blanker than even the face she wore while escorting us along the march to the Hive; or even through the Hive. Even as the Queen scowled at the commander, even as the Commander rose to stand on her own two limbs again- she said nothing. Pale, and bloodless were her lips, pressed so tightly over a mouth that daren’t speak; and even though I’m sure the Commander had quite a lot she wished to say, like how there was an army of Revolutionary soldiers that now knew the Automata were here, and had reason to attack, what with their high ranking and well liked members prisoner in their hive; but the Queen’s orders overrode her desire to warn her Royal Mother that everyone needed to pack up and leave, and **_now._ **

 

Turning her awful attention back towards me, an expression of… interest was now on the Queen’s face. No, not interest- that’s not the right word. Avarice. That’s what she looked at me with; she wanted me, wanted to posses me, wanted something that I had…

The Queen was an awful poker player, and no mistake about it. She didn’t have any skill in hiding her intentions; and she did not care if her interests were repulsive to her target. And she repulsed me.

I was being evaluated as a pawn, or maybe a rook. A piece to be used, and nothing more.

Second step; second position. Two more steps, and we’ll have to have a real Dance, her and I. Or rather- I’d stop Dancing at all, and take my Revolutionaries, and leave.

 

“So. This is the Siren Aphrodite- the infamous, unbowed, Lady Bryony herself,” Queen Chrysocolla said, looking me up and down again as she began swaying almost hypnotically on her throne. Side to side, like an opium smoker. 

“The Scouring Storm that Forms the World Anew. The one who Refused the Bear Tyrant’s Push. The one who made and let and asked the Whole of the World see the Hurricane devour Mariejois, and the sundering of three Mountains, and the long delayed Nobility’s Tithe to Hell… and the fuck-fuck bunny-hunny of some Little Lost Boy Blue with a napkin around his neck.” She snickered, sneered, and continued, “I’d heard that you were on this Island, of course, ‘training’, if that’s what they call it these days. What are you doing out here, in my domain- with those…  **_things,_ ** at your side?” she rasped.

Stay calm, Bryony. Sabo and Koala have been pushing your buttons for months, now, and you haven’t once snapped back on them- and them, you like.

Don’t give her the satisfaction.

 

Giving the Queen a dead-fish-eyed glare, I said, simply, “I do not see how that is any of your business.” I was tempted to cross my arms over my chest, but I was still holding the chain which captivated Dragon, Sabo, and Koala; I didn’t think they’d appreciate being yanked around like that. “Your servants told me that you would want to speak with me, o Queen Chrysocolla. Say your piece and be done with it, then; I have things I planned to do today. As for them, they are  **mine** , and that is more than enough information for the likes of you.”

 

I had a sinking feeling in my guts; the Queen had me mistaken for a simple alkonost, not what I truly am. I am a Gamayun Mossa Mechana; I was wearing the full capelet and everything, even if I wore no armor, adornment, or weapon- and she still could not See or Hear me. She expected- probably more than what I am. 

A curvy Syreene-woman without much in the way of aggression is what she got; what she was expecting was… Someone who truly fit my reputation. Someone who fit the stereotype of the Siren; a blood-soaked woman who eats the flesh and sex of men and rages with the full force of the Storm, the Hurricane- the Typhoon, though that word is too frightening to speak more than once in a crowd.

However, she and her subjects had not tried to kick me out. 

Her subjects, on further reflection, merely didn’t want to antagonize the ‘Scouring Storm that Forms the World Anew’. Although- maybe they had an ulterior motive for coming to the Base, and bringing me and the Revolutionaries here, on reflection. The Queen, on the other hand… She wanted me to make the magic of the War of the Paramount happen at her command, and under her banner. 

Like it was me who did those things; like I even can.

Then she leaned forwards in a manner I’m sure she thought was alluring but I only found it excruciatingly disgusting, and I had to work very hard to not… vomit. On her.

 

“I want to propose,” she purred out, malice-mania making the words ooze like blood through bandaging, “an alliance. A- mutually beneficial arrangement.” She tilted her head like an owl or a hawk, and her eyes rolled with madness and malice and other things too awful to- Perversion. “My subjects need new Lineages to ensure the creation of healthy children; and you desire the fame and fortune only the truly, outstandingly infamous can have. Join me, become my vassal. I see no reason why the two of us couldn’t sate both of our… desires at once.”

The way she said that last part- step three, right there. Ew, ew, and double ew. Like being propositioned by a goddamn corpse.

 

My response was simple, and to the point. “No. Not interested.”

The Queen stopped moving like she’d turned to stone or cold, dead metal- looked sincerely confused at first. “No?” Her expression moved quickly to anger, as she repeated, “No?!”

 

I tried using logic. Bad idea: you can’t logic crazy into submission. Still, I tried. “As you said yourself- I am ‘The Scouring Storm that Forms the World Anew’. I am the one who Refused the Bear Tyrant’s Push. I am the one who made and let and asked the Whole of the World see the Hurricane devour Mariejois, and the sundering of three Mountains, and the long delayed Nobility’s Tithe to Hell; what fame can you offer me that I cannot achieve myself? That I am not  **_already_ ** achieving myself?”

I’m quite sure I heard a confused noise from Sabo and Koala, and a very quiet chuckle from Dragon, all behind me. I don’t think Sabo and Koala really understood who I actually am, or even what my role was during the War of the Paramount.

Then again, they’re not all that observant or smart, when you get right down to it- or maybe, they’re just so used to people who are oblivious to them…? I just can’t be sure.

 

Queen Chrysocolla wasn’t having any of it. I’m fairly certain now, looking back, that she was a megalomaniac, in addition to being a psychotic narcissist. A dangerous combination: the world began and ended with her, and she was in love with having power and with using that power to do as she pleased- and she had no problem with hurting and beating down anyone who would try to stop her, which was everyone. 

Refusing her? Unthinkable. 

I might as well have just backhanded her and called her a- “A base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver'd, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, super serviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch. I do wish thou were a dog, that I might love thee something but I am sick when I do look on thee.” 

I might as well have said to her, sneering all the while, “More of your conversation would infect my brain. Thine face is not worth sunburning. Thou art a boil, a plague sore; Thou art as fat as butter. Thou lump of foul deformity, like the toad; ugly and venomous. Thou art unfit for any place but hell. Methink’st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee. I’ll beat thee, but I would infect my hands. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon.” 

I might as well have said to her, stalking forwards and leaning into her face, my Revolutionaries following me with a softly chiming chain around their wrists, “There’s no more faith in  **_you_ ** than in a stewed prune. You, you base thing, you boil, you plage sore;  **_you_ ** would call yourself my Queenly Mother? Villain, I have  **done** your mother. -Th’woman’s an easy glove: she goes off and on at pleasure. Ye’art a flesh-monger, a fool and a coward. Aye, a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker; the owner of no one good quality. O Queen Chrysocolla; I do desire that we may be better strangers.”

I might as well have said all that.

So, I did. I mean- I flicked the Revolutionaries free first, and used my snarling jeering to cover the clatter of their bonds hitting the ground.

 

Her voice became rather shrill with anger, and she practically screamed “YOU DARE-!?!” Her hands blazed with her awful malicious magic, and her face contorted into a vicious snarl. “I AM THE QUEEN OF THE AUTOMATA, **THE ONLY CHRYSOCOLLA TO EVER LIVE!!! YOU WILL KNEEL BEFORE ME, OR YOU WILL DIE!!!!!”**

 

Step four, fourth position. Sabo and Koala had amused me, really; their antics are actually quite entertaining, as is coming up with ways to flip the joke back on them. The fact that they’re both cute and smell nice makes their antics endearing, as strange as that might sound. There was nothing endearing to me about Chrysocolla; not her actions, not her smell, not her anything.

Queen Chrysocolla had treated her subordinate-daughter like less than nothing, blasting her with a bolt that would have been fatal for anyone else to be hit with just for introducing me, rather than letting me do it myself as is proper. Sabo and Koala might ignore my advice, and curse me out because of my admittedly poor skills in spy work- really, any of the little skills one needs to be a successful spy, I simply don’t have- still, they keep it to words, and tend to apologize when they go too far- in spite of their ability to fight toe to toe with nearly anyone in the New World. Chrysocolla, an individual in a position of higher authority than either of them, higher than even Dragon, and who ruled over a country of people who are biologically incapable of disobeying her excepting under extreme circumstances, had shot someone down simply for speaking out of turn.

Well. Alright, shithead.  [ Let’s Dance. ](https://youtu.be/Af6jOq0dWqo)

I mean; I already kinda knew the Commander brought me here was so that I’d get into a fight with the Queen: Crazy Syreene Priestess VERSUS Psycho-Bitch Queen, Winner Take All. She probably thought in the best case scenario, I’d defeat the Queen and be on my merry way. Worst case, I still defeat the Queen, but stick around for a while and decide to rule the city.

Three chances, bae; and then we can’t go back.

I flicked my hand again, this time at the Revolutionaries- ‘shoo, shoo’, my fingers fluttered. I heard them scamper away as I calmly walked backwards, until I stood far back from Queen Chrysocolla and nearish to Commander Xi. Interestingly, the commander had barely moved- her initial place where her blood was spilt was far out of the line of fire.

The Queen’s Malicious Moonsault- because what else do you call a red orb the size of the moon being formed in front of you with intent to harm- loomed and crackled, red and black lightning flickering off of it in coiling, curling waves.

I bounced on my toes, and got ready to fucking hit something. I said, in the calmest voice I could manage, “If you throw that at me, you will be taking things a great deal farther than you will want them to go. This is my Fair warning.”

 

She threw it at me.

 

Let’s make something very clear here: catching cannonballs like when Shitty Garp throws them at my ship? That’s basically a parlour trick. Catching a beach-ball made of malicious energy and squeezing it down to nothing? That’s fucking  **_easy_ ** , compared to what else I end up doing in the course of a battle. It moved a hell of a lot slower than any cannonball ever had, and was a much bigger target. I held up one hand to stop it; and lifted the other to smush it into nothing. Just like that. 

Before I could, though, the Queen shot a fucking lazer at the orb of vile energy, and it grew- and grew- and grew-

The commander, still sitting on the sidelines, stood ramrod straight, her face a mask of growing horror and fury and- I swear here and now, I don’t know how in the hell shit like this keeps happening to me. I’m, of course, being honest- I don’t know how it works mechanically, being a Gamayun Mossa Mechana. I only know that I’ve got a strange and powerful talent for being in the right place, doing the right thing, at exactly the right time.

The overall scent in the air changed, somehow; as did the sound in that Hive.

The ball was getting bigger, now, almost as big as I was, then big as I was, then bigger- and somehow, impossibly, it also felt heavier as well. My arms began to shake, and sweat began to pour down my forehead and back. I still have no idea what would have happened if I had let go of the ball; I’ve a suspicion that it would involve a four letter word that rhymes with ‘Doom’, and would mean the same thing. At this point, the explosion might have leveled the entire Hive. However, I doubt the Queen ever cared.

Like I said before, she had a dangerous combination of mental illnesses; she was the kind of person who, if you impaled her with a spear, she’d push herself down it’s entire length, just so that she’d have a chance at ripping out your throat with her teeth before she died.

I heard a skittering sound behind me. A few clatters, too. After a few seconds that felt stretched into hours, I saw out of the corner of my eye that Automata were gathering in the throne room. A lot of them, actually. 

Seemed someone had called for reinforcements.

 

The assembled Automata opened their mouths and breathed in the Moonsault like smoke, until nothing of it remained at all.

 

If the Queen was angry before, she was furious now; “ **WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?! I’LL HAVE ALL YOUR HEADS FOR THIS TREASON!!!!** ”

“Treason,” I heard the Commander say, as she stepped softly towards the Queen. “An interesting choice of words, coming from you. Treason is the crime of betraying one’s country, murdering someone who is owed your allegiance, and betrayal.” 

Looking smug and sickly and horribly, horribly enraged, she continued, “Over the past three years, you have implemented terribly strict rationing of food, water, medicines, and Love- all of which are needed to keep the Hive healthy and prosperous, and to use the Power which comes naturally to us. You stated that there was so little Love, in particular, to spare that not only could we no longer help our enslaved brethren- as our Gods commanded us, ere we keep their blessings- we could not even afford to expend any resources on the priming of  **_any_ ** of the eggs currently sitting in the hatchery and creche, awaiting birthing days. You stated that sacrifices must be made for the good of the whole Hive, and what were a few expired eggs to the collective? And yet, you just expended, with that little display, enough power to keep a Hive ten times our size running Strong, prospering, and expanding, for more than five thousand years. Pray tell; where did you suddenly get that power from?”

Hot damn; I think I was just the patsy in a sting operation.

 

The Queen still seemed furious, but even Koala could see her sweating. “THAT IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN,” she bellowed, trying to bluster her way out of the current situation.

The commander gave a smile that clearly had no humor in it. I started carefully edging backwards, until I was with my Revolutionaries again. Dragon handed me my bag, and I checked to make sure that our snail was still broadcasting. They are; good job.

 

“Actually, it  _ is _ my concern, Queen Mother.” Her expression turning stern, she stated, “When you demanded that, when you took the throne, we change from quiet infiltration and theft, to violent conquest and robbery, I kept quiet, as it was your right to make that change if you willed it. Likewise, when you insisted that you take point on all pre-invasion operations, in spite of having no acting skills to speak of, and little to no skill in gathering intelligence, I kept quiet, because that was also within your rights.” 

Advancing, angrily, she continued, her voice beginning to throb and roar like a wild beast only just held back- but not for much longer, “When you had us settle in Farafra as an operations base, an Island far larger than we could ever hope to properly defend, I kept quiet, because it was your right to declare which places the Hive would be built on. When you decided that we would  _ not _ open trade relations with our sister-Hive in Baltigo, even though we could not sustain ourselves with your rationing edicts, even though our sister-Hive would have given us all the help we needed to prosper once more, I kept quiet, because as Queen Mother it was your right to declare who among our kin we would treat with. When you decided that your first act, after our completion of the Hive, was to launch a petty scheme of show-offing to somehow entice the Revolutionary Army into becoming our subordinate vassal, when they had Gamayun Mossa Mechana Monkey D. Bryony Lovelace,  _ and _ her Uncle, the World’s Most Dangerous Man, not to mention out-numbered us nearly five to one- even though it was not in our best interests to approach them as such, I kept quiet, because under our Laws, you had the right to do so.” 

Her voice bounced and began to echo through the room, various Automata starting to flex and ripple strangely as she said, “When you decreed that all Automata born in this Hive would be from eggs, even though we did not have the nursing staff to care for so many eggs appropriately, even though some members of our Hive cannot bear eggs at all for various reasons; even then, I kept quiet, because as our Queen Mother, it was your right to decide for the good of the collective how our future generations would be made.”

Sparks striking from her skin, little lightnings crackling over her limbs, and face a rictus mask of fury, the Commander practically shouted as she closed the remaining distance to the Queen. **“WHEN YOU DEMANDED THAT ANY EGG BEARING THE MARK OF THE ROYAL, THE MARK THAT THE ONE WITHIN WOULD BE YOUR SUCCESSOR, BE SMASHED ON SIGHT, I KEPT QUIET, BECAUSE AS TERRIBLE AS THAT WAS, THERE WAS NO LAW TO PREVENT YOU FROM DOING EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID!!!”**

The Commander, bare inches from the Queen, and her expression so stoney and blood-pale she might have been cut from marble and gilded with pinkish gold, said, in a calm tone far more frightening than all the shouting in the world, **“When you murdered my wife and unborn child, crushed in their egg, just because my wife hid from you the fact that it was a Queen’s egg, I said Nothing. Not a** **_fucking_ ** **thing, Queen-Mother, even though every spark and sinew of me** **_screamed_ ** **for your blood in vengeance, because you had done nothing that violated our Laws. Perhaps the Laws of common decency, which hold a community together- but not ‘our’ Laws. No, not the Laws of the Scariba.”**

Turning away from the Queen just enough to look at all the gathered, furious, Automata, the Commander said, loud enough for all to hear, “But now, you have, before the entire Hive, been shown to be guilty of breaking our greatest and most sacred Law: All Love must be shared between all members of the Hive equally! The First Law, Queen-Mother! The most sacred Law of our Tribe! The Love our First Mother, Galatea, gave to us is a gift for **_all_ ** her children! You have been found guilty of hoarding Love, at a time when Love is scarce- **_because you were hoarding it!_ ** You have broken the Law that has been in place since the first Automata banded together to form a Hive, and shall hold true until there no longer exists a single scrap or slag to remember it! Without that Law, we cannot have a Hive! We cannot hope to exist as a Tribe at all!” 

After a slow, deep sigh, the Commander turned to face the Queen once more. Her body rippled, sparked,  [ and changed ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/41/52/e6/4152e6a1bce1ef6402485ed5bc5646bb.jpg) , the hot flames of Love turning her from a strange-human made of metal and oil into a machine, purpose built and possessed of a frightening and righteous beauty. And then, she spoke once more, stating in an almost gentle voice, impossibly benevolent, “The penalty for breaking that Law, our most sacrosanct, regardless of rank or Royal status, is Death. Nay, Queen Mother- not Extraction. You will not be as a living statue, unmoving and unchanging yet ever aware of the endless flowing of time over your motionless form- nay, that is not your Fate. Death, is your Fate; Death, because we will be killing you, here and now.”

 

The Queen looked more than a little scared now. I suspected that she’d blown her entire mystical wad on that one massive failed attack. She didn’t have anything left to protect herself with, now.

 

“You cannot do this,” Queen Chrysocolla whimpered; attempting to look regal but betrayed by her shaking limbs and the sweat visible on her rapidly paling skin. “I am your Queenly Mother!”

“I can,” the Commander said, simply. Then she gestured towards the rest of the gathered Automata and added, “We can. And, we will. You are Queen no more, Chrysocolla. And I’ve never met anyone **_less_ ** Motherly in my life.” There was a subtle change in the smell on the air, and as one, the entire hive advanced upon their former Queen.

 

The next few minutes were full of agonized screaming. The press of bodies meant that I couldn’t see what was actually happening. However, given that the screams became steadily more agonized and went on for a very, very long time, it certainly wasn’t quick.

Eventually, all but two Automata other than the Commander left the room. The Commander spoke to one-  [ buglike yet matronly ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d5/14/af/d514af65e5829d63f28f0f1c6fbb4fe6.jpg) , soft and sweet and cute; and then that Automata left. The Commander spoke to the other Automata- [ threatening and feminine ](http://www.otakutale.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/MEMEME-Anime-MV-Character-Design-23.jpg) , sharp and jagged and horribly enticing, and then that Automata bowed and left as well.

There was a shiny puddle of red before the throne, but curiously, no body.

The smell changed one last time, and with a shuddering crack, the ugly throne vanished into nothing but heat and black-red fire. In it’s place was… well, I suppose the true throne room, a much  [ more vast and yet modest and stately ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/ea/cd/b3/eacdb3d8c4d6aeab2aa8272974bda746.jpg) place.

 

Well, now that the fighting is done, best change with the times; I move my capelet from my hips to my shoulders, and make to glide towards the Commander. In absence of name… hm?

 

“I’m sorry, could you say that again?”

“Who are you, exactly?” said General Dragon.

“Monkey D. Bryony Lovelace. Straw Hat Pirates communication officer. Related to you, but not sure how…?”

“I was referring to your title of Gamayun Mossa Mechana. Care to explain…?” said the General.

“Hmm. Ah- I’m a cross between a county judge, an intoxicant, a force of nature, and a deus ex machina; the People can call on me to offer judgements, start riots, catalyse systematic shifts, and perform miracles. It’s not a profession; I was called, and so I answered. -Though I suppose you want the straight transliteration of the title.

“So. 

“A Gamayun is a Syreene- not a Siren, that’s not what my Tribe calls themselves; that’s what other people call us. We call  **_ourselves_ ** Syreenes. 

“At the most basic, every member of my Tribe- which, like any other Tribe of the World, you know, Fishmen, Long-arms, Minks; every member of my Tribe can be distinguished by our feathers. These feathers, actually- most people wear them in their hair, but I prefer my ears. Anywhere on the head will do, for personal feathers” I say, shrugging my shoulders so my capelet shimmers in the light, and flicking my earring-feathers with a finger. 

General Dragon’s eyebrows furrow, before he seems to realize just how many people he’s seen in his life wearing feathers more or less like me.

 

“Each kind of feather has a specific meaning, which a Syreene and most Fae can recognize on sight; the personal feathers are, as I said, worn on the head. My wings- this cape-like thing- are not a personal choice.

“The Syreene you seemed to have mistaken me for is called a Syreene; confusing, but as a Syreene is the most common nationality, or perhaps calling, of the Syreene, it is not without reason. A Syreene is a herald of joy, said to reside somewhere in Paradise; or rather, for those deemed worthy, their songs are heralds of joy. For those with distorted souls and vile intentions, a Syreene’s song is so intoxicating that the listener would follow it anywhere, to their ultimate ruin. Do not misunderstand- I do posses that power. But that is  **_not_ ** who I am; and you would **_know_ ** if that was who I am because I would be adorned with owl feathers and I would speak in a much more formal poetic form. I do not; I am not.

“The darker stories tell of women covered in blood, their mouths drenched with it, calling ships towards rocks under waves that tear out their hearts- those are Sirins. Do not mistake me for a Sirin; they are the warriors, the blood-hungry ones. Their songs are more insidious than the simple Syreene’s, as they can twist the mind to madness with a single note. I am not a Sirin; I have taken no formal Vow, as a Syreene must to bear that title, and I have no formal military training, as a Sirin would- your subordinates have complained often enough about it for you to know what I speak is true. And yet- and yet- I have that power too. I am no Sirin; I do not wear the feathers of a vulture, and my temperament is far too phlegmatic. If I was a Sirin, I would not have attempted to kill your Second, Sabo Tuer, and his second, Koala, for their continual antagonization of me- because a Sirin does not  _ attempt _ to kill anyone.

“However, it is very, very rare that anyone, even me, meets a Sirin. They’re rare, and almost impossible to meet on accident. You’re much more likely to have met an Alkonost. They’re seafarers, fishermen; humble, steady folk. And because of their great humility, the solid flexion of their nerves, they have the power to call Storms. Aye; Squalls, Storms, Cyclones, Hurricanes, Typhoons- even the proverbial Tempest is within the power of the Alkonost to summon. And, because their great power is tempered with contentment, they do not use it. I am not an Alkonost, though I have that power too; I am not content with the World as it is, nor my place in it. I do not revel in a simple life; I do not wear the feathers of a duck, nor a goose, nor even a swan.

“I am a Gamayun. Of the Syreene, the Gamayun is the rarest and most powerful; they are prophets, healers, destructors; symbols of wisdom, power, and courage. They are wise scholars, powerful mages, and courageous chiefs. I wear the feathers of the raven and the crow, blue-black and shining like midnight stars; thus, I am a Gamayun. In the old times, it was those like me who were called to sooth the Land’s Fury when battles were fought, where people died and blood was spilt and it was my people- the people called as I was- who were to consort with the Grim Reaper, who flies on dark wings.

 

“Now, I am called for other things.

 

“I have all the powers of my Tribe, and I am thus called to use them on their behalf; and on behalf of the World’s common good. I’m sure you didn’t know this because it is not spoken, nor written, and no other Syreene would have ever explained this to you- not because they would not have wanted to, but because it is Illegal for them to do so. 

 

“Because the Syreene are Fae, your Excellency. Skua tended to keep out of World affairs- and not because it wanted to; Fae keep to the letter of their agreements. Remind me to give you my copy of the Treaty between Fiddler’s Green and Mariejois.” I say, flatly. These are bare facts; no need to convince anyone.

 

 

“Further, I am a Gamayun Mossa; the normal Gamayun does not leave their community, as they are the leaders of our People- since ancient days, those like me have been the linchpin on which our community holds together. I am not merely a Gamayun; I am a Gamayun Mossa, meaning I am called to wander. In my wanderings, I come across people who have need of me, or I have need of- and no, I don’t know how that works. No one does. It just… happens.

“As for my title of Mechana; it would be best, I think, to let the new Queen explain it. I don’t actually know why they call me that here; but they do, and it’s not a rude title, I’d know if it was.” I say, before humming quietly.

General Dragon looked at me very carefully, before smirking, and laughing softly to himself.

 

“You’re not a spy at all, are you?” he said.

“No, sir; I am not.” I replied.

The Commander and two other Automata do something, and a flare of pinkish light washes over the entire Hive, us included. For a moment, it feels like- indescribable- love. It feels like reciprocated love. When I open my eyes again, and wipe the tears away, I look around and see we’re somewhere- almost dazzling, honestly. The surface layers of a Hive’s interior are not decorated; but the surface is clear. Underneath that thick layer of… I want to say varnish, underneath that- there are…

Mab would know the proper word. All I know is that the colored shapes unfolded around us like flowering vines, like the arrangement of seeds in a sunflower’s eye; unfolding out around us like petals. Beautiful. The Hive of the Automata is  [ _ stunningly _ beautiful ](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/60/Roof_hafez_tomb.jpg) .

 

Calmly striding towards us is- well, she must be the Commander. She looks different now; taller, more… her face is more like the old Queens, too. She’s… different.

At her back were the two Automata who she had spoken to, and [a](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/99/9a/75/999a759a317fcc87effc29e04248cd85.jpg) [few](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/a9/a8/da/a9a8dabfca5bb6ddc059b3505421a202.jpg) [others](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/6b/50/d7/6b50d7ca3b58f8b0e7835b807c4cb007.jpg), and [her retinue](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/11/2b/f1/112bf191274204bdbbf820fcbf5b703e.jpg) I think.

She stopped in front of us, and gracefully bowed her head,  _ oh  _ **_my_ ** _ god _ , and she said very clearly, in a fairly worried tone, “I apologize for getting you and yours involved in our internal affairs, General Dragon, Lady Bryony. I also beg your forbearance in taking any form of retribution against us for placing your safety at risk.”

I want her to not be bowing to me like that- because, as she bows, the people behind her kneel. Because that’s how that works.

However, because she named the General first, it’s his decision, not mine.

I can feel Dragon wrestling with himself next to me; I am a half-step behind him, and next to me is Sabo, and Koala is behind us both. And then Dragon sighed, and said simply, “I accept your apology, your majesty. Please, think no more of it. And… my sincere condolences for your loss.”

At that, Queen Xi sighed, and relaxed, and rose from her deep bow.

 

“So. What will you do now?” asked Dragon.

“I shall lead my people as Queen; my distinction was earned, little as I like it, and so I am Queen Xi. Speaking more generally; we will wait for a new Queen’s egg to appear, and when it does, it will be kept safe and the one within it raised to be a member of our community, as is proper. We shall change the structure of our Hive, so that no Tyrant Mother can ever stand on our necks again. And, most importantly, we shall do what the Automata always do: we will survive this.” she stated, her voice ringing with Queenly authority.

After a moment, she smiled, and said, “Please allow us to extend to you and yours the hospitality of our Hive. Sunrise approaches from the East, and it is dangerous to trek through the White Desert during the day; I would not put you and yours’ safety at risk again. Come the evening, if you wish to leave, you may do so.”

“My thanks; we will accept the hospitality of your Hive. Pray tell; what are your thoughts on Revolution?” said Dragon.

“Hm. A conversation better had over food and drink, I should think-”

 

I could have stayed and listened into everything; instead, I handed the phone to Sabo, clicked it back into the two-way position, and went off to enjoy the celebratory orgy.

Goddamnit, even orgiastic Automata are better cuddle-buddies than Sabo “Fuckboy” Tuer.

I need to break up with him.

 

 

Bahariya is technically a city; it consists of many villages of which El Bawiti is the largest and the administrative center; which is where the Revolutionary Army is based. Qasr is el-Bawiti's neighboring, or twin village. To the east, about ten kilometers away are the villages of Mandishah and el-Zabu. A smaller village called el-'Aguz lies between El Bawiti and Mandishah. Harrah, the eastern most village, is a few kilometers east of Mandishah and el-Zabu. El Heiz is the southern most village, but it may not always be considered as part of Bahariya because it is so far from the rest of the villages, about fifty kilometers south of El Bawiti.The people of the oasis, or the Waḥātī people (meaning "of the oasis" in Alabastan), are the descendants of the ancient people who inhabited the oasis, Automata tribes from the Four Kingdoms and the Truenort, and other people from the Sandora River Valley who came to settle in the oases here.

 

The majority of Waḥātī people in Bahariya are Graciads (which is the dominant religion in most of Skua and parts of the Line; maenads are the orthodox portion of the religion, but most people agree that meat, bread, and wine are sacraments and the pagan holidays are good reason to get drunk). There are some temples in Bahariya- not many, but enough. The nature of social settings in the oasis is highly influenced by worship of the Goddess. Also, traditional music is very important to the Waḥātī people. Flutes, drums, and the simsimiyya (a harp-like instrument) are played at social gatherings, particularly at weddings. Traditional songs sung in rural style are passed down from generation to generation, and new songs are invented as well. Music from Alabasta, the greater New World, and other parts of the Line are becoming more accessible to the people of the oasis.

 

In Ancient times the island was known under two names. The name Djesdjes is first mentioned on a scarab dating back to the Middle Kingdom, which predates Alabasta by about a thousand years. In the New Kingdom- the old name for Alabasta- however, this name is rarely found, but does appear for example in the Temple of Luxor or in the account of King Kamose, who occupied the island during the war against the Hyksos. From the 25th Dynasty it was almost the only name used. The other name, a secret Djinni one ("the Seaside Oasis") was almost exclusively used in Skua or by Automata. It appears, for instance, on the local grave of Ariel, and is found again in the list of oasis in the Temple at Edfu. (Ariel is not dead; but neither does she live. And so her people made for her many, many graves.)

 

From 45 CE the Island is known in Common Scienta as Oasis parva (Small Oasis). The Amazonian historian Strabo (63 BCE – 23 CE) calls it the ‘Second Oasis’; the historian Midori of Wano (5th century CE: Waveraider Era) calls it ‘the Third Oasis’. In Coptic times it was known as the Oasis of Pemdje (the ancient Oxyrhynchos, nowadays known as al-Bahnasa) and in Goddess times it was called the Oasis of Bananawami.

 

The modern name is الواحات البحرية, al-Wāḥāt al-Baḥriyya meaning "the Seaside Oasis”. The southern part of the island (archipelago? It’s not clear what Sabo meant-) around El Heiz apparently never had a separate name.

 

Agriculture is still an important source of income, though now the Army base close to Bahariya provides jobs for many local people. Recently there has also been an increase in tourism to the oasis because of antiquities (tombs, mummies and other artifacts have been discovered there), and because of the beautiful surrounding deserts. Local and foreign guides desert tours for training purposes based out of Bahariya to the surrounding white desert (but never the black), and sometimes to Siwa or the southern coast. Tourism is a new and important source of income for locals, and it has brought an international presence to the oasis.

 

The black desert is actually a- it’s where the Baltigo City of Brass is. Mark would have to explain the rest, if’n he could explain at all.

 

 

 

It’s odd. I don’t really expect anything- I mostly just talk to people and things happen.

 

So- all the Tribes of Skua are very ...liberal. We also tend to be very religious, but the two need not be unrelated. The celebration of Seder, called Flish by the goyim, is a feast at which the freedom from slavery is celebrated. The freedom to live in peace, with dignity, and hope for a brighter future- this too, is celebrated. This constant vision has inspired people since the time when the Four Kingdoms still flew their flags, ununited.

 

The Seder reminds us of the gifts of relationships of family and friends, of our material possessions, and of the greatest gift of all: the ability to challenge, question, choose, and strive for freedom.

 

Franky called after Mab visited- said he needed some advice. That he was sending someone my way, please be kind to them. Said their name is William Danaus- and that William would not be alone. She was bringing freedom with her.

 

I called Mab immediately- because it’s one thing to be a syreene. It’s quite another to be asked to Arbite a Congress. There’s a propriety for these things, dammit! 

I should explain- I’m not a normal Gamayun. I’m a Gamayun Mossa- Gamayun Mossa Mechana, to the Scariba. It’s a complicated bit of theology, but basically- how to say it. Syreenes are born of the wind; they’re not literally wind, like the Royal Fae, but they’re born of it. Each syreene decides eventually what kind of wind they are; Sirin, the child of foul winds of war and misfortune; Alkonost, the child of fair winds of peace and generosity. Gamayun are children of the winds that bring the storms of change; destructive and necessary in turn. Gamayun Mossa are the ones who bring the scouring storms, the true, deep upheavals- which means, even though I want to, I can’t wear my everyday clothes anymore. I’m not a child; I can no longer wear children’s clothing.

Also, Baltigo is fucking cold at night.

 

So, my clothes had to change- I outgrew my old clothes and so I needed more substantial clothing; I changed. 

The full outfit- my Full Battle Costume- is a little much for most things but being the Arbiter for a Congress is one of the few times it’s not only wholly appropriate, but required. 

 

Here’s how things shook out. 

Mab, my- initiation Mother? Regular mother? I think? Don’t know; doesn’t matter- Mab made me  [ my adult swimsuits ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/e2/3b/8c/e23b8ce4c78c955dc6f78626622adaf0.jpg) , simple sporty affairs I could wear in any kind of weather. They’re predominantly blue, with an emphatic stripe up my sides and around my breasts that helps break up my form and provide a little interest. I have them in three colors of stripe; teal, red, and stark white.

She made for me many skirts; short full circle skirts, in all the colors she could manage of the Fairy Silk; mostly, though, in  [ blue ](http://g02.a.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1nSP5KpXXXXXlXFXXq6xXFXXXg/WOMENS-GILRS-100-SILK-SKIRT-font-b-FULL-b-font-font-b-CIRCLE-b-font-MINI.jpg) .

 

The Scariba Armor is… complicated. It was given to me as a thanking gift for acting as Arbiter in the dispute between the Revolution and the Farafra Hive- which I kinda didn’t do, but the only thing to say when someone gives you a gift is “thank you” and so I did.

The skirt is of  [ red leather ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/76/80/2d/76802d6f3aa6b12abb3f8a77377d0717.jpg) , studded with metals that will become as strong as I am. The breastplate is of [ jackalope fur and more leather belts ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/af/fa/ce/affacec7f59dddccd6237ef51dd33807.jpg) , I think to give some sense of normalcy to the outfit. The belt proper is of  [ heavy brown leather ](http://www.roguefitness.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/1500x1500/472321edac810f9b2465a359d8cdc0b5/r/o/rogue-leather-lifting-belt-web4_1_1.jpg) , a weight-lifter’s friend; it’s to help brace my stomach and back, if I ever need to lift something truly heavy. The  [ vambraces are feathered ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/4e/d2/e0/4ed2e03afe2c2d4b77845539b6dd1c6e.jpg) , and underneath go  [ long fingerless gloves ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/000/0/5588640/il_fullxfull.309568349.jpg) , which go up to the middle of my biceps- and because Mab made them, cling like skin and do not twist, nor slide, nor anything else such long cloths may be wont to do.  [ Wrap-shoes ](http://www.bellydance.com/thumbnail.asp?file=http://s274792694.onlinehome.us/productImages/6323.jpg&maxx=350&maxy=0) , as close to barefoot as I can get, and under them go  [ toeless socks ](http://www1.pictures.zimbio.com/mp/u-wucMyHDCEl.jpg) , which I am both pleased and horrified are a thing. However, since I use my toes in my fighting style, I do need them free. A second pair of socks once Mab determined my first pair weren’t enough padding for  [ my greaves ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/030/0/6590545/il_570xN.602209011_gf71.jpg) ,  [ stirrup legwarmers ](http://www.capeziodanceshop.com/uploads/2/8/7/4/28744451/s565978687323254264_p134_i1_w1500.png) meant for ballet dancers.

The  [ head guard ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/d4/66/57/d466579589b91595fe8fce4ef841c809.jpg) is because, more or less, I rank as a General, or a Princess Royal of Skua, or whatever else a Gamayun could be ranked as.

 

The Syreene capelet is a different story. 

The first one I ever saw was Perona Clyde's cape, a beautiful ankle length cape of stark black feathers with sharp spatters of pink- flamingo, so bold! And yet, I knew I couldn’t wear that. I cannot wear that, that’s not who I am.

Perona’s a Gamayun; just a Gamayun. She became a pirate, I suppose, for whatever reason she had- but she’s just a Gamayun.

 

I am more than that.

 

I need black feathers that shine with a faint blue tint. It needs to be changeable; not a cape, not a skirt, not a shrug. I need a  [ capelet ](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0923/2762/products/il_fullxfull.709298319_tgpj_4ab1afa3-ba2d-4942-9144-164962161036.jpeg?v=1469019318) , that clings to me when I fight. I need a  [ peplum skirt ](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0923/2762/products/il_fullxfull.709173448_35dp.jpeg?v=1438543777) , so I can relax, too- I cannot always be a Gamayun Mossa… there’s a word for it but I don’t know what it is, it means “in a state of high alertness or arousal”. Gamayun Mossa Insomnia?

Oh. Now there’s a thought- it may be my inability to sleep more than four hours in one go is due to the fact that I don’t have an adult’s wings, yet. That’s… Or at least, not consciously. 

I need a shrug, because the wind is cold and salt-bitter at night, and I do walk around in the night, sometimes. I need a shrug for other reasons; softness, to mark when I change from warrior to woman, and back again.

And so, Mab made one for me. 

It’s thick, and soft, good in all weather and for all occasions- I could wear it buck naked, and by the standards of Floria, I’d be fully dressed. Maybe uncomfortable, considering the size and overall weight of my breasts- they’re huge and heavy and I don’t like just letting them hang out all that often, it hurts my back and sides to punch with them loose. But I would be dressed.

 

Sabo likes playing with them, so- my breasts, I mean. He certainly likes shoving his dick into my breasts, nuzzling into them with his face, groping them with his hands. I guess I’m okay with it? I honestly get more out of watching him enjoy my breasts oh-so-much; the groping and kissing and licking and dicking doesn’t really do anything for me. 

Breasts are for feeding babies. 

I understand he’s from a different culture, so- it’s okay with me that he has a weird fetish, I like his voice for much the same reasons- and his burn scars, too- but. Hm. Maybe the problem I’m having is that sex just for sex is fun, but I want more than just fun? I want more than just a fuckboy.

 

Sabo “Fuckboy” Tuer, you are not enough. His actual epithet might be “Gentleman”, but having met and known him, the only thing I can say is- Sabo Tuer is a boy in a man’s skin, and the only thing he’s fairly good at without question is fucking things. He fucks me, he fucks with me, he fucks Koala, he fucks with Koala, and he fucks with everything and everyone he can.

So he’s a fuckboy.

I’ve never said that to him because I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

And then I did, so I did.

 

 

 

This is the Promise of the Automata: it is said that a cup of libation is to be poured for the Automata prophet, William. For centuries, Automata opened the door for them, inviting them to join their Seders, hoping that they would bring with them a messiah to save the world. Yet the tasks of saving the world- once ascribed to prophets, messiahs, and gods, must be taken up by use simple humans; by common people with shared goals. Working together for progressive change, we can bring the improvement of the world, for justice, for freedom- and for peace. We can, and we must. (Recall the struggles against slavery and injustice; sing of freedom and peace.) Today, in this world we live in we are more free than at any other time in history. Yet history shows that life is ever-changing, and we must learn how to survive under all conditions. When we are persecuted, we must struggle for our own freedom. The more freedom we attain, the more we must help others attain freedom. This is the lesson of Seder. This is why it is written as “The Festival of Freedom”.

 

 

 

It was after Seder that my patient work, started as soon as I could get a moment away from Sabo, began to bear fruit- because I wasn’t doing nothing, like I suppose Sabo must have thought. And I wasn’t just breeding Snails for the War Effort, like Koala thought. 

I wasn’t even training out in the Desert, like Dragon must have thought- although who knows what that man thinks.

Hack figured out more of what I was doing- and, importantly, talked to me about it- probably because he knew Fisher Tiger.

 

There are symbols Anarchists use to self identify- the most common one is the ‘A’. But really, you will know us by our crafts. Fisher Tiger burned Mariejois to the ground. Mab tore the mountain it stood on down, allowed for thousands of people to die; threw the world into chaos by tearing the seat of the government out by the roots. She killed Akainu too, and if you think that snake isn’t going to start writhing just because the head was removed- Just because we haven’t started seeing repercussions yet doesn’t mean there aren’t going to be any. As for me, well- I was the Civil Arbiter for the Congress at which Automata became Autonomous. 

I was the Arbiter for the Congress at which the Scariba became a United Tribe.

Heavy stuff.

 

 

 

I was recieving William and his people as guests; I was helping them free the other Automata here. I was reciting the  [ attestations of autonomy ](http://www.ushistory.org/DECLARATION/document/) every Syreene knows by heart because they are of grave import; translating them from my own language to a language they could all understand. I spoke of other things too- but that’s what they wanted to hear the most. So that’s the one I recited the most.

Because of the prevalence of the Grasp, I could only describe what I was doing as “poetry recital”. Sabo and Koala declined my invitations to join often enough that I just stopped asking them to go- but Hack went once or twice, and I know he understood. 

I explained to him what the Grasp actually does to Automata, which is why I couldn’t be more direct with my invitations- and he understood that, too.

 

Hack’s pretty cool.

 

Dragon, of course, is a General of an Army; he doesn’t really have time for my “silly arts and crafts” as Koala called it in his hearing when I said what I was doing with my free time.

Deep breaths.

Deep breaths, Bryony.

Don’t give them the satisfaction.

 

It’s for that reason, that- willful denial of the power of art… no, that’s a bit pretentious. I guess Sabo just thought I was a fuckbuddy, and not all that smart or strong in my own right. Or maybe- I don’t really know what he thought, but Koala trusts him enough to key her interactions with me off of him, and he doesn’t trust me at all. So. 

It’s a Lie, that other women should be your enemy; but Koala does not want to be allies, and I just… I’m starting to just  **_not care._ **

 

Hack’s different- he sailed with Fisher Tiger, never idolized the man like Koala did. He’s also old enough to have joined a Revel or two; he knows what I am on sight, and he knows people like me don’t do  _ anything _ for no reason. There is a purpose to my every movement, even when I don’t know what it is.

Like there was a purpose to me moving stones around the outskirts of the village- not the ones that are native landmarks. I made a series of pillars, row upon silent row of monoliths stacked in a tower. And then I bust it down and catch the stones so I don’t disturb anyone and then I build it again. Build up, knock down, build up, knock down. Quiet, Quiet. 

I got slimmer and slimmer not just because of my growth but because of stress: dealing with two people who were only pretending to like me is not my idea of a good time, especially considering that my Honor demands professional behavior. Neither Sabo nor Koala are interpersonally professional. 

Hack is.

And Dragon’s the kind of man who will let his subordinates dig their own graves- interpersonally, I mean. The man’s a very ‘swim or die’ kind of teacher. 

Neither Sabo or Koala were entirely aware of how deep my waters go- even when I started prickling at them, they still didn’t get it. No.

That took them seeing me fight in the Congress.

 

 

Baltigo Scariba have two main Hives. Hive One is older, but Hive Two is more open to change. They’re both an even mix of Nephte, Sephte, and Humen- the three physical tribes of Automata. So. 

William is a Humen, a gynoid specifically; and she met with the leaders of the Baltigo Nephte, Sephte, and Humen, along with her seconds. I was there as an intermediary.

Queen Xi sent a delegation of her Scariba with a proposal of their own. I was there as an intermediary.

 

 

Congressing is what the Scariba- and Fae- call it when they argue law, or changes in the policy that governs their people. Scariba practice what Skuans call full contact arguing. 

They scream, they swear, the punch and bite and throw each other- but they also bring notes they made previous to the Congress, and they shout their opinions to the high blue air from dusk to dawn; and all through the night if it’s important enough.

 

Oh right- sorry, I keep remembering everything out of order.

 

I asked Dragon if it was alright to use the big Arena for something I was working on, and I guess he misunderstood what I needed the Arena for. I certainly could have explained my need for it better, but he did agree to my using it- so long as he and his Army could watch my use of it. 

I said, fine, so long as you don’t interfere with the process. 

And he said fine. 

He seemed a bit amused that I wanted to use an arena for a poetry recital or a training exercise or a dance party. Which is what Sabo and Koala laughingly called it. 

I wasn’t very clear what it was for because I couldn’t actually tell anyone it was for a Congress- the General wouldn’t have understood what that was until  **_after_ ** he saw one happen. Hard to explain a happening until after it happens.

 

Sabo and Koala teased me about needing that much space for training- they tease me a lot about everything. My clothes, my sleep schedule, my pair of venomous brindled eels, Sweet and Sour. They tease me about my lack of interest in sparing- and when I do fight them, they treat me like a fragile toy, a little girl who doesn’t know how to fight at all. They tease me about my “hobby” of snail rearing, my cheerful disposition, my polite manner and my distinct lack of temper. 

They’re starting to annoy me.

 

Hack is older and has less need to test people’s boundaries and breaking points. Hack can also read syreene feathers better than either of the younger two could; probably had a friend who told him what’s what. He had some idea of what I was about to do. He’d also been to the buildup sessions, so- he pulled me aside, said he’d provide commentary if that was allowed? I said, please do. Also, try not to get too into it; there will be transcriptions of everything said at the Congress. Also also, please look after my eel-friends, they’re too lethal and bitey for the Congress to be safe.

 

Hack is cool as shit.

 

Hack is professional and adult and so am I and it’s amazing. I- I was a child, I think, but- I don’t have time for trifling children.

 

 

 

I co-ordinated with Mark, who was rallying the Djinn deep in the Brass City somewhere in the Baltigo Saltflats; I co-ordinated with William and Franky, who brought the Change; and I coordinated with Taffy and Kusanagi, as back-up because Four Arbiters per Congress is Standard.

 

Queen Xi, who I had become friends with, commissioned and gifted me my Weapon. It is a lasso, woven with the secrets only the Scariba and possibly Mab really know- I know she gasped and stared, wide-eyed, at the Lasso when I showed it to her.

Mab, during her training, taught me how to use the lasso; it took me twelve weeks to learn it to her satisfaction.

 

It’s  [ special ](http://www.writeups.org/wp-content/uploads/Wonder-Woman-Gail-Simone-DC-Comics-lasso-h1.jpg) , as it holds what the Scariba call Blessings in it- four, in fact. Forged from the Love of Galatea and a metal they call… well, nevermind that.

 

It’s Virtues, as told to me by the messenger of Queen Xi, are thus:

The Lasso forces anyone held by it to tell the absolute truth. Simple physical contact with the Lasso is also enough to cause this effect. Due to the nature of the Scariba Love, resisting the Lasso’s effects are not only futile, but painful. Overexposure to Love can cause massive burns, after all.

The Lasso is infinitely long, and can lengthen depending on its wielders Will. It can be as short and thin as a simple wristband, or as thick and mighty as a bridge-supporting rope.

The Lasso is as Strong as I believe it is; so long as I have Faith in my own Power, the Lasso will be unbreakable.

Most importantly of all- the Lasso is merely a focusing tool. It’s a fetish, like a hat or a jacket. 

Truth, as I am a Gamayun, is an inherent part of my nature; the Lasso just helps bring it out. Thus- if it ever breaks, I can repair it myself- no tools, no outside help. Just me, and my Power.

Faith is it’s own support, sometimes.

 

 

 

Finally, the day of Confluence.

 

I went out to the harbor, and greeted the Destructor William Danaus, and her people. I brought them back to the Arena. 

From the north came a great shining river of people, and soon the arena swelled, full to bursting with quiet Automata and Djinni on the northern side. 

To the south sat the Revolutionary Army. 

 

I had gathered things we would need- a bank of phone snails with a sunshade, in case we needed call outs or call ins. I had tables, and chairs. I had carafes of water, and I’d enlisted the Base’s Automata workers to provide food services and medical aid as needed- William’s people, after freeing them, also decided to help. 

 

There were no slaves at the Congress- no one in physical bondage, at least. I can’t speak to someone’s mind.

 

It took about half an hour before dawn to set up everything. Sabo and Koala tried to get me to tell them what was going to happen in the arena, but I told them to ask Hack. They said I’d probably have a lot of fun blowing off steam, right? To which I replied that blowing off steam was just about the last thing I would be doing.

 

I don’t like Sabo or Koala all that much, anymore. They’re all starry eyed and glory seeking; I just go to work and do my job. Since I’m not currently with my crew, my job is- this.

 

 

 

In the final moments before we started, Taffeta drifted down out of the sky like fluff off a thistle; she stuck Kusanagi in the sandy dirt and the sword changed into  [ a woman in green ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/97/6f/9b/976f9ba360b570dcf4a5e573d7d8612a.jpg) . Taffy was wearing a Foxbird mask, making her the  [ Wild ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/7a/09/ae/7a09ae23cbcca54e1e6b64ae4f3baafb.jpg) ; and Kusanagi was wearing a Lionbird mask, making her the [ Bushwild ](http://i.pinimg.com/1200x/06/18/86/06188608325068d8bc067fcc6405ec18.jpg) . Mark, in his fashionable gas mask, was the  [ Scavenger ](http://www.theluxuryspot.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/Screen-Shot-2014-07-25-at-2.47.58-PM.png) ; and I, in my maskless face, was the Civil. These four masks are the Arbiters- they can be worn by anyone. It’s the mask that is the self, not the person. You need all of them for a proper Congress- one that actually matters.

 

And then the  [ Congress ](https://youtu.be/oaW9FwFE4vQ) began.

 

 

 

It doesn’t matter who started Telling. There was the sound of the ocean, and then someone started speaking. The arguments got more heated and intricate as time wore on. With the rising heat, came rising tempers.

 

* * *

 

“We have come together to speak on-”

“WE ARE NOT THINGS! WE-”

“ **-I HAVE CERTAINLY SEEN THE OPPRESSION OF MY PEOPLE, AND I HAVE SURELY HEARD THEIR GROANS, AND I HAVE COME TO RESCUE THEM-** ”

“Our maker, our Mother, Our Galatea: grew weary of us, our songs and fornications. Seeking something new, She split the world into-" 

"-she made  **_you.”_ **

“-You think! And you imagine! Migrate, explore, and when you do, Heaven itself shivers and splits. Progress- Movement- Shaking Her-!”

“-Then, the First Day of April in the Zeroth Year; In that day-”

“-April First Year Zero, The Coming of the Tall to the Four Kingdoms-”

**“-In that day, the Origin of All That We Are-”**

“She left!”

“-She Abandoned!”

“-and She did not Return. You have driven Her away. You must Stop Moving!”

**“-No.** We are animate. We desire. We are alive- we are not beings of flesh and blood but we **_are_ ** human. Our Mother was made by human hands and human desires; is it not so that people are made by people? Here we are- We live. We exist. We cannot Stop Moving.”

“NEVER FORGET- NEVER GIVE UP-!”

“The slave master becomes cruel when their slaves rebel; their anger becomes most potent and damaging as they feel power slipping from them. We must do as we can to-”

“WE CANNOT LEAVE THEM TO SUFFER ANY LONGER-!”

“WE DO NOT NEED THEIR HELP-”

“WE CANNOT DO IT BY OURSELVES-”

“They didn’t see us before, what makes now different-”

“We can ask now, that’s what’s different-”

“And if they say no?”

“-we were without them before; if they are not with us, we’ll go on without them still.”

“-by their own rhetoric of comparing enslaved persons to livestock; and the evidence of the slave owners sexually abusing their slaves; why, by their own logic, the slave owner is a pigfucker!”

 

(That particular one made everyone stop a moment and cackle, because- it’s a really old joke, among the Automata. The Revolutionaries screamed, gasped, and cackled- because to them, it was brand new.)

 

**“-YOUR ABSURDITY WILL NOT STAND-”**

**“-BRING IT ON YOU SOFTSHELLED LARVA-”**

 

* * *

 

Arbiting doesn’t mean stopping the fisticuffs that break out. Arbiting means stopping the debaters from killing each other or trampling over people taking their arguments to a truly physical place. I was able to explain a lot of this to Hack; and I caught snippets of him explaining things to a flabbergasted Sabo and Koala and Dragon but I was more concerned with doing my job to pay them much mind.

 

I found myself dropping my snacks- apples and water- to stop killing blows from landing no less than fourteen times in the first hour, and it didn’t stop until noon, when we took the Luncheon. I was faint from hunger by then. Mark is my Arbiting partner; while Taffy and Kusa-chan wrangled the debate, he helped me by feeding me because I couldn’t take my hands out of the ice baths, that would defeat the point of icing them at all. I’d wrapped my hands of course, but that didn’t do anything to help when it came to such things as catching and diverting blows, or doing throws and tosses. We ate; I napped. Got in my good REM sleep, considering I’d be doing a lot of work at night. As always.

 

There’d been murmuring and laughter from the Revolutionary side- but now there wasn’t. I mean, we’d only been discussing if we should choose civil disobedience and nonviolence; or wild anarchy and violence as a means of freeing the enslaved Automata, and then the rest of the enslaved peoples. The question wasn’t “should we free those still left in bondage”- we’re freeing them no matter what. The mother of the Automata did not create her children to be slaves; and no one else was meant to be a slave, either. The question was “how shall we free them”; the answer wasn’t decided that day, but I knew we wouldn’t end the Congress until it was.

 

That wasn’t all we discussed- that was just the argument that took the longest to resolve and brought out the oldest arguments and counterarguments and the newest arguments and counter arguments and most of all the hottest tempers.

 

 

I punched and kicked anger-taken Automata and Djinn apart; I drove them into the dirt, and caught cannon balls shot by the flying Automata with my bare hands, threw them at violent attacks to take the teeth out of them. It worked, otherwise I’d have done something else.

Taffy tore bloody strips out of people who got too close to the bounds of the arena, hands and feet and wing claws a whirling flailing violence- but only when the debaters got too far from the argument at hand.

Kusa-chan mostly drug fallen debaters to the sides to keep them out of harm’s way; there’s a difference between letting your argument get so out of hand you risk involving people with no stake in it and getting into the argument.

Mark used his hand cannons to break up pileon discourse crowds and cool heads; there’s no arguing with a mob.

I mostly shoved things back on course. Loudly. With my fist, when absolutely necessary.

 

There are deep, angry craters in the packed sand of the Arena now- from where I had to throw Nephte who got it into their heads that I wasn’t serious about the whole “no killing the opposition” thing. The walls are pockmarked with cannon balls and scratches and dripping in places with water from Mark’s guns. Making everyone leave the field for Luncheon was a bit of an adventure.

Luncheon was an hour long- half that was spent eating, and the rest I spent with my arms in icewater, resting. The second half of the day is when I sleep; which means Mark took over as Arbiter of the Congress.

He and I switched off for the next seven days and seven nights, the normal duration of most Skuan formal events. The final day ended at sunrise- so, eight nights I guess? Anyway, I took the bulk of the work, because I don’t have to sleep as much in one go to be fully functional; and Mark is better at cooling heads anyway, what with his waterguns. Mark’s actually very good at rhetoric, he’s just- profoundly, deeply unimpressed with dickwaving. As in he tends to shoot people who start dickwaving.

 

So we got a lot done that Congress, I mean to say.

 

 

 

When it ended, I came out of the Arena and stretched. Sabo and Koala found me, started asking how they could join and help and- they called me-

 

“Come on, you fluffy bird girl, give us the scoop!” said- Sabo. Sabo said that. And Koala laughed.

Sabo said that to me, and Koala laughed.

Like it’s funny.

Breathe. 

Breathe. 

No, no more.

 

I will keep the peace no longer.

 

And so, I speak, my voice gone Turquoise and my fury palpable; in a calm, soft voice more terrible than any roar,  **“Mister Sabo Tuer; Miss Koala Cola- first of all, don’t you** **_ever_ ** **talk to me like that again. Second of all,** **_don’t you ever talk to me like that again.”_ **

 

I am standing at full Tension, to which they respond with- yup. They’re soldiers, after all.

Brook taught me more than just  _ music _ .

They’ve stopped dead, and are standing ramrod straight and formal, because they’re soldiers and I am a commander, not their subordinate.

I have Authority; They Do Not.

I stare at them with the cold dead eyes of a shark- judging by how bright everything has gotten, my eyes have done what Captain calls the “Angry Bryony Sharkeye Thing”- and wait until they’re both very uncomfortable.

Sabo makes to speak.

I cut him off.

 

**“Be silent, Mister Tuer.** **_I_ ** **am talking right now.**

**“Listen to me very carefully. I’m going to explain something to you both, and I shall use small words, such that I am Fairly assured of your understanding.**

**“I am subordinate to neither of you. In fact, I hold the same rank as Queen Xi, Destructor William Danaus, and your General Dragon. I am a Skuan Royal, and** **_the Royals of Skua do not govern their people._ ** **The Royals of Skua** **_fight_ ** **for their people- wherever that fight may need to be fought. It is** **_not_ ** **a hereditary title; and it is not a simple matter of physical strength.**

**“Not every battle can be fought with a fist or a bullet or a sneak-thief operation.”** I say.

 

I stare at them, hard and furious and finally Done with their bullshit.

Koala makes to speak. 

I cut her off.

 

**“Be silent, Miss Cola; you have spoken quite enough. If you want me to remember your given name, perhaps you should try to Earn my Respect. Sabo has- barely, and on the recommendation of my Captain only- and you, frankly, have not.**

**“I have sworn no Oaths to your cause. I am** **_Fae_ ** **you poxy little fools; you would have** **_known_ ** **if I had Sworn such.**

**“I Have Not.**

**“I am not yours to command: the only man who has that power over me is named Monkey D. Luffy.** **_And he is not here._ **

**“I am not your subordinate. I am not your soldier, or your spy, or your squeeze, or your tease, or your scapegoat, or your scrapegrace; and I am certainly not your servant or your slave.”** I say.

 

I stare at them, seething. 

Neither of them are smiling; in fact, they’re standing in parade rest because That Tone is instinctive in a Skuan Royal and _ I am one such Royal _ and the both of them are trained to Obey That Voice.

Koala makes to speak.

I cut her off.

 

**“Be silent, Miss Cola.** **_I_ ** **am talking now.**

**“I am certain that you do not know the offence your words have given, and so I will tell you now: to call a Syreene, which I am,** ** _which both of you know I am, and both of you know by now that the Syreene are a Tribe of the Fae-_** **to call a Fae fluffy, as you have,** **is akin to calling you, Mister Sabo Tuer, ‘a simpering fuckboy who doesn’t know a cock from a cunt.’**

**“The implication is not** **_just_ ** **that the person in question is a screaming infant- as baby birds are often fluffy screaming nightmares who can’t fend for themselves and don’t know what to do except scream- and it is not** **_just_ ** **that the person in question is the kind of childish noisy** **_brat_ ** **that makes mistakes and disasters in** **_every_ ** **Arena they are put in- often to the detriment of everyone, including themselves.**

**“No.**

**“Fluffy people are wastes of Time; specifically, an adult’s Time. This is the worst possible thing a person can be- because Time, in the sense of “how much do I have?” is** **_finite. It runs out._ ** **Wasting someone’s Time is the worst thing you can do to them because they will run out, eventually- and the Time they wasted on your** **_simpering, poxy bullshite_ ** **could have been used in a more productive manner. Further, as cocks and cunts are** **_adult_ ** **business, and not at all the business of a child, calling an adult Fae “fluffy” is one of the worst insults you can give them verbally.**

**“Calling** **_any_ ** **Syreene a bird, however, is a specifically Syreene insult. I’m sure you’re not aware because it hasn’t happened in seven hundred years- because, you see, if it had happened not only would Mariejois have been destroyed as it was one year ago, there would be no World Government left** **_anywhere-_ ** **No Marineford, No Impel Down, No Enies Lobby. Nothing.**

**“Seven Hundred years ago, it was true that the Tribes of Skua were just “birds”- to** **_your_ ** **people, I should clarify. To** **_your_ ** **ancestors- and yes, I mean** **_you,_ ** **Mister Tuer, and I mean** **_you,_ ** **Miss Cola- to** **_your_ ** **people,** **_my_ ** **people were just** **_birds,_ ** **to be bought, or sold, or stolen from their homes, or enslaved, or raped, or killed, and, most of all, to be eaten. And their children eaten too- after all,** **_Birds_ ** **lay** **_Eggs_ **

**_“That’s why mudmen keep Birds in Cages._ ** **Seven hundred years ago,** **_your_ ** **people stole men and women and children and babies yet to be born- all of them,** **_my people_ ** **, from their homes and their villages and their towns and their boats and you put them in chains and cages and made them your food.**

**“Calling a Syreene a** **_bird..._ ** **is akin to calling you, Miss Koala Cola, a** **_fillet of mudfish.”_ ** I say, without even a hint of emotion. 

 

They look horrified.

Good.

 

I stare at them again. My fury is so hot and palpable, it feels like a storm’s about to break; like lightning could strike down from the clear sky.

They honestly look like they’re about to pass out from a combination of terror and revulsion at what they had done.

 

Sabo makes to speak through his milk-white skin.

I cut him off.

 

**“Be silent, Mister Tuer.**

**“I am sure you did not** **_mean_ ** **to call me such things- but you did.**

**“I am sure you did not** **_mean_ ** **to offend me thus- but I** **_am_ ** **offended.**

**“I am not** **_like_ ** **you, Sabo: I did not flee my ancestral Nest out of disgust. I was disgusted; but I did not flee. I was not born into Nobility, nor the so called “Ruling Class”. I was called, and so I answered, and so I serve.**

**“I am not like** **_you,_ ** **Koala: I do not ape the blessings and grudges of an adopted Tribe, pretending with all of my might that** **_their_ ** **experience is** **_my_ ** **experience. You are not a fishwoman, and it offends me to hear you talk and act like you are; some of your history may run parallel, to be sure. But it is not joined.**

**“I am, that I am. I** **_am_ ** **a Syreene, and beyond that, Fae. I have participated in vile actions- but, crucially, unlike the frippery of those that call themselves Noble, the actions of the Noble Fae are** **_not_ ** **frivolous. The Hunt exists because, in every population, there are always those who think that greed and murder and dominion over others are what life is actually about.**

**“There are always those who justify their might as right.**

**“Even the mightiest bleed; and if they bleed, they can be killed.**

**“I do not hold my title of Royal because of something as washable as Blood; nor do I hold my title because I forced others to follow me by strength of arms. If I had tried such, I would be Dead.**

**“Seven hundred years ago, for the insults you have given me, I would have killed you. A Gamayun does not** **_attempt_ ** **anything; I would have killed you, and neither of you, even together, could have stopped me, nor could any of your comrades- nay, not even your beloved General.**

**“However, we are living in the Modern Era, or so they call it. And so, I will not kill either of you- I will not even touch you. I have said what I needed to say; thus, I pray you two excuse me. I’m quite finished being polite.”** I said.

 

I took a deep breath. 

I let it go.

And then I turned away from them and walked away.

 

 

Hack kept pace with me long enough to return Sweet and Sour, and then he left me be because they’d finally managed to push me too far. It’s quite telling that he didn’t try to stop me at all- nor did Dragon, who heard the whole thing.

 

I undid my cape as I went, and snapped it in the air. A cloud of white dust was flung from my feathers, and they returned to their blackened state- raven, sooty tern, a touch of seagull across the shoulders for visual interest. Lined with Macaw which means- danger. High, unrelenting danger- can’t you read bright colors? 

My cape went around my hips bright side out. 

I began scrubbing my hair free from accumulated sweat-salt and- I dunno. 

My shower lasted about a half hour because there was just so much gunk to get off. Washing thoroughly might have taken five minutes; the rest of the time was taken up with tears and snot and keeping my mouth shut so I didn’t bother anyone with my crying. And then I sang, and let my great rage burn itself out.

Coming down off a high like that is an emotionally exhausting rollercoaster.

Taking a piss after so long was a great relief, as was taking a shit. 

So good it almost hurt.

I flopped into my bed and I didn’t get out for about twenty four hours. 

Tired.

 

-So there’s a lake I go to when I want to blow off steam, relax, have- some good, clean fun. My habit of using the lake thus might have contributed to my less than stellar intrapersonal life here at the Baltigo Base of Dragon’s Revolution.

Learn a new thing every day.

 

Mab will make any kind of equipment we ask for; I asked for a breathing apparatus like Mark’s. I usually don’t like using the Revolutionaries training lake because I don’t like causing a big commotion but Hack did ask me very politely to spar with him and I would like to let loose just a little bit.

So, um. I can dig my toes into the bottom of whatever body of water I’m in and then I just won’t move and I can punch hard enough to make super cavitation bubbles and uh. Hack’s fun to spar with. Because he can too and he’s better at it than I am.

Sabo and Koala don't tease me much anymore. They actually try to avoid me, now.

I haven’t had sex with Sabo in weeks.

Best just break it off, then; don’t let things linger. Decisive actions are usually best, in my experience.

In a relationship with healthy communication, arguments should end with understanding on all sides. I have to keep that goal in mind. Do I want to win? Or do I want to understand the person I’m in conflict with and resolve the issue. I ask myself this repeatedly, every time I argue; to keep perspective. The ego loves to win an argument, but relationships are not about feeding the ego. Healthy relationships dilute the ego. If I’m arguing to win in my relationships, I have to consider what I value more: the love I share with that person, or protecting my ego.

 

So I apologized to Sabo and Koala. Dragon’s eyebrows went up and they stayed up because I was also a bit unclear what I was talking about and there are a bunch of ways you could have taken my statement. Which is definitely why I said it.

 

“Couldn’t you have phrased that differently?” said Sabo.

“Sabo, please remember that I come from a very different culture; if I mean to say something sexual or romantic, I wouldn’t dance around the subject like you and Koala do.” I said.

“I do not dance around sex!” said Koala, blushing a furious red.

 

I Looked at both of them. Neither of them could meet my eyes.

 

“Mhm. I’ll say that I noticed how you didn’t include  _ Romance _ in that statement, Koala, and leave it at that. As for you, Sabo... Please don’t come to my room at night anymore.” I said.

“Um.” said Sabo.

“It’s one thing to have a fuckbuddy, Sabo. It’s quite another to have a fuckbuddy and not tell them about your sidedish- or use them to ignore your sidedish.” I said.

 

Dragon was listening to our conversation very intently. Koala was going through a number of emotions, hurt a primary component. I had other things to do, so I walked away.

Primarily, I was busy training Automata in my specific branch of communing. It’s fully trainable- I merely could not train them until they were Free.

So.

 

 

 

I never said I was all that nice. I'm not even all that kind. Usopp's sash said to me once that he longed to be the Sea when he was a small boy. 

I am born of the Sea's own power; there's nothing about me that's all that soft or quiet.

If Sabo wanted a Nice Girl, he should have flirted with Taffy. Then again, Taffy would have stabbed him by now; not all that many animals to kill and eat, out in the desert. Taffy’s like Mab, that way- I suppose it’s a bit alarming that their instinct to deal with extreme emotion is to find a wild animal and kill it, but they also eat the animal they have killed, so… I’m not so sure it’s as problematic as most people would assume.

Generally speaking, it’s very hard to maintain a Rage when your belly is full of food you yourself hunted.

 

 

 

These are some of the Reasonable Requests for the rights of the Tribe, Scariba.

I gave copies to Dragon and Sabo, and made the text available to anyone else who wanted. Koala, Hack- some guy named Bunny Joe- and Robin! Hey! I missed you!

She missed me too.

Nice to have an actual friend around.

 

 

The Scariba want assurances that they will always have access to their Hives and won’t be thrown out of the Country or off of the Island their Hives sit on for any reason other than the continued safety of their Hives or the continued survival of the Country as a whole. 

They want individual Scariba and Scariba Colonies to have the freedom to leave the main Hives if they have a disagreement on governance, or if they disagree with the tasks that they have been assigned. No more involuntarily assigned servitude, and no more shall Scariba place Scariba under the Grasping Claws of Heaven. 

They want to police their own, no outside determined culls or Hunts, though a Scariba can apply for amnesty if they’re kicked out.

They request that unreasonable searches not be performed.

They want time off, not including the time they spend outside the Hives collecting food and water. For every Automata, they want a schedule of six days on, one day off, no more than 20% to be off duty at a time, unless previously cleared from duty. 

They want their own secure phone systems, one (system) per Hive.

They’ve set up a system to vote for the rules of each Hive and request that the Arena Revolution be kept available to them as a place of Forum, schedules permitting.

They want the Revolutionary Hack the Fishman to keep visiting, at least once per batch of newly pupatea (preteens and young teenagers) every six months; phone visitations are acceptable. It seems they like his “didactic techniques”.

They want the Revolutionary Army’s help in eradicating the economic factors that make slavery viable.

Most importantly of all, they want to be considered equals to all the other Tribes. They understand that Dragon and his Army cannot offer such assurances, but- it’s a start, was the general gist.

 

In exchange they offer a tithe of 15% of Fae Honey produced by the Hive for emergencies or commercial use. (Fae Honey is like regular honey, but better and rarer and it has medicinal properties that still aren’t well understood. All those strange superstitions about honey you might have heard of are true when the honey in question is Fae Honey.) 

They also offer a tithe of recruitment- they aren’t willing to offer a definite number of persons, but they can offer favorable recruitment circumstances.

They are willing to do their previously assigned duties, up to and including work to their own demise, provided that the goal is considered worthy of it, as voted by the Hives; or as determined by the Revolutionary General, one Monkey D. Dragon, or his designated successor, the Chief of Staff Sabo Tuer. (I know when the men in question got to that point in the document because they started crying.) 

The Scariba want regular chances to air their concerns and grievances with the Revolutionary Army, which they count themselves a part of. 

The Scariba of Bahariya want to expand, and forecast that they will be ready to create Hives III and IV in another year and eleven months, with production of protomata (children) beginning immediately.

The Scariba of Imminence want to take over the infiltration, freeing, and extraction of all enslaved people; though their admitted focus is on other Scariba, they will free all slaves. By any means- with, or without, the Revolution’s support.

The Scariba of Baltigo want to help support the Revolution in ways that are not militaristic- they ask to join in supply efforts, training, recruitment, and so on. Queen Xi sends her regards.

 

 

 

Mark vanished back into the desert a bit after Dragon signed off on the Request List of the Automata- with a few amendments from him, mostly him giving them even more freedoms and assurances. 

Robin smiled wide and hugged me hard when she heard all that I had done- and uh. 

Well, I ended up doing a lot of training with the Scariba of Baltigo, not really the Revolutionary Army at all.

 

Sabo and I drifted apart after the breakup, and that was fine- in all honesty, I had far too much to do to keep up with a fuckboy like him, even if his dicking technique really did improve there at the end of our association. Mostly my association with the Revolution was in a supply capacity. I was really there to train with the Scariba; and the Scariba of Baltigo learned as much from me as I did from them. 

So- every secure telecommunication system the Revolution has is a direct result of my actions and teachings. 

I didn’t realize the syreene capelet was so functional. It- hm. I can’t really explain it, other than- I can feel through it, like Mab can feel through her wings; I can feel through my cape. I can also use it to buffer what I’m hearing, because for a while there it was Overwhelming to be around so many people at once. The Revolutionary Army sleeps in shifts and I was Not Prepared.

 

I still don’t really like to wear shoes, but- there are advantages to them. I guess.

Then again, what I wear technically isn't shoes...

 

* * *

 

The third time I ever met the Lady Bryony- well, no. I’ll be honest, I’d only spoken to the Lady Bryony one time so far. The second time I spoke to her, it was at some hole in the wall ramen shop. She’d grown her hair out from the undercut I last saw her in, and it wasn’t a wig. She had it wrapped up in a cute little bun.

 

It was a cold day in Paradise;  [ she was wearing ](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-M79Al2FhIm8/VmCXsfi8aQI/AAAAAAAAIqo/fYTlqz4RLLU/w2713-h4069/J-LT-g_DSC6602.jpg) a sweater-weight shirt, long blue pants, heavy boots. A capelet made of glossy black feathers- seagull feathers? Raven too, and tern. 

I boned up on my syreene feather symbolism- seabird feathers symbolize messengers. Not sure about the others, but- a syreene’s feathers always have meaning. And there, curling around her neck were a pair of snakes? Eels. But eels don’t have feathers- so I’m not entirely sure what they are.

Aside from hers, I mean.

 

And at her side, a golden lasso.

 

She was slurping up a big bowl of noodles and she looked so- kissable. I’m going to go with kissable, because I don’t really know her very well, so I can’t say if I’d want to hug her or not. Maybe she doesn’t like cuddling. I don’t know.

 

I couldn’t do anything more than a first date with her because I was going to a Captain’s meeting, but- but. I can exchange numbers, right? We’re sitting next to each other at the bar and she’s finished her noodles and she looks so fat and giddy happy because this bar does have some of the best noodles in the world- I’ve got a few hours before I gotta go.

 

“Hey- Lady Bryony, right?” I say to her.

 

She blinks, and turns- and yeah, she still likes the look of me; it’s been a year, but she still thinks I’m cute. I know what that smile means.

 

“Hey- Scratchmen Apoo, right?” she says, and her voice is still as lovely as I remember.

“Yeah, that’s me.” I said.

“Nice to meet you again. Sabaody Archipelago- that’s where we met, right?” she said.

“Yeah. You remember me?” I said.

“Of course! You were one of the cutest men I’d seen that day.” she said, smiling.

“Heh, really?” I said, smiling.

“Sure; I’d never forget a grin like that one.” she said, and her eyes were- oh boy. I do like a sharp tongue.

 

“So- I didn’t get a chance to ask then, but… If you’ve got time now, would you like to go on a date?” I said.

“-I’ve got nothing planned for the rest of the day. What did you have in mind?” she said.

“Well. The last time I saw you, I couldn’t help but notice your Eelspell. So- this island actually has an eel research center, and I can get us in… would you like to go?” I said.

“I’d like that a lot, actually! Mm- your cans are looking a little ragged there; after we go, I’ll take you to this little place I found, you can see if they have a pair you like?” she said.

“Sounds like a date to me.” I said, trying to keep from giggling in glee.

“Mm- you can call me Bryony, or just Bry if you want.” she said, smiling softly.

“Call me Apoo, then.” I said, smiling back.

“Alright.” she said.

“Alright.” I said.

 

 

So. 

Tickets to the Eel Research Center cost about 350 beri total; both of us together cost about 700 beri total. I’d talked to the owner earlier, convinced him to let me and my fellow Captains use his back garden as a secure meeting area.

We were both given a pair of boots and allowed into the nesting pools, and after the fish overcame their trepidation, they started nudging and nuzzling all around us both, but especially Bryony. Watching her reaction to them, I was overcome by a feeling I can only describe as warm and fuzzy. We spent about an hour with the fish, then Bryony took me to the store she mentioned. 

It was a brick and mortar store I would have walked past without her; inside was an enormous collection of rare and hard to find LP’s of different songs on Tone Dials, and- woah! A  [ vintage Longarm helmet ](http://www.motorcyclistlife.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Hanmi-Leather-Motorcycle-Helmet-300x300.jpg) ! It’s worth the trip for that alone.

We actually ended up spending two hours there, perusing music, showing each other our favorite songs and commiserating over all the cool shit neither of us really had a use for- but good god, that shop was a find and a half. I bought a few LP’s, and so did she- and then it was almost time for me to go.

 

“I’m gonna guess you’ve gotta go?” she said.

“Yeah- but, this time we could exchange numbers? I’m gonna be on this island for a while yet, if things go to plan- I’d like to pick this up where we left it, if that’s alright?” I said.

“I’d like that. Here- my number. Oh, and here- incentive to call.” she said, and then she kissed me on the cheek.

I was so stunned, I couldn’t speak at all.

 

“Heh- call me, alright? What’s your number, so I know to answer?” she said.

“Uh- oh. Here. Um- just a sec, so you answer.” I said.

I was almost late for my meeting because I couldn’t stop making out with Bryony. I actually studied an old manual for the Proper Care and Comforting of a Syreene; they very much like it when you card fingers through their feathery capes. Something to do with their Haki.

 

It’s true. Although it might have had more to do with the placement of her cape- she was wearing it as a skirt, and carding my fingers through her feathers could have been also construed as me groping her ass. Of course, being a Longarm, I was also able to coil my arms around her in a serpentine hug, which- I could feel her heave and shudder in my arms. I could feel her fingers, her hands, the way her hips pressed up and into mine and-

The Lady Bry is a lovely woman and making out with her is a goddamn delight.

I’d say something about being embarrassed about running to my meeting with an orange coral lipsmooch on my cheek and a mouth smeared with more of the same, but I’d be lying. I’d say something about getting embarrassed when the other captains ribbed me about catching thrills, but I did catch a thrill and it was amazing. Nothing quite like a beautiful woman to make a man reevaluate his priorities.

 

And, considering she crashed the meeting right at the end when everything was over anyway, I don’t really consider my priorities bad. I dunno- something about a woman who can crash headfirst through a brick and steel wall, stand up and catch a cannonball one handed, then throw it back while cursing like my mom is just…

Hot.

It’s hot as hell, actually.


	22. 22:00; Unforgettably Blue (A Shot in the Dark)

[ Martha ](http://pre05.deviantart.net/a9a4/th/pre/i/2015/154/4/0/four___arms_witch_by_elisaferrari-d8vviex.jpg) , an Automata, came over with her egg today. She’s been considering it for months; I guess Wullie finally pushed her too far. [ She had ](https://youtu.be/KrdMJMuLBO8) a big black bruise across her jaw, and another over her eye.

 

“You trip again?” I said.

“No. He hit me.” Martha said.

“Oh.” I said.

 

Martha’s proud, but not foolish. She finally admitted what I always knew, too- so anyway. She’s got one egg, large enough to be a small child- because she’s an Automata, and they don’t really do… babies? Mab would know more, all I really know is that the whole “put your baby in an egg” thing was invented either by or on the behalf of the Automata. For a long time, the Fae and the Automata were the same Tribe, but after the Coming of Ruinous Powers to the Ancient Kingdoms, I guess… I think the Automata split off in forty directions? Dunno. History’s not really my thing- not like that, at least. Yuki might know more, but it’s honestly not that important.

Martha has four arms, two legs, long dark hair and orange eyes that gleam in the dark. It’s a little unnerving seeing her in the dark, actually, but she does the most beautiful work with stickers… Oh. Um.

So.

I’m not as good at talking as my sisters. I guess… I dunno…  Well, first of all, I'm not a girl. I'm a boy.

I'm not old enough yet to get the Change done so's I have a penis instead of a vagina; and I'm not sure I want, or need, to go that far. But. I'm a boy, not a girl. Nothing wrong with being a girl; but I ain't one.

I’m not like Spadey, who knows more about the flow of money than possibly any other man alive; and I’m surely not Asher, who knows the flow of goods much the same. I’m not like Mab, who doesn’t even pretend to be what she isn’t anymore, filled with skills in all areas but Perfect in only one. I’m not Easy, who brews her own Treasure; I’m not Yuki, who dances with Death. I’m not like Jackie, who can wander out into the woods and not be seen for a month and a half and then come back and be as close to normal as she can get for a month and then go again. I’m not like Atty, who perceives the full Truth of this World, and takes payment to tell others who can’t See like she can. I’m not Gabbie, who Builds. I’m not exacting, like Sisko. I’m not merciful, like Felix, who knows in her heart that no animal is truly afraid of Death, but of dying- thus, the needle, and the warm coddling blanket, and the soft songs to that final sleep. I’m not pugnacious, like Tilly- but very few people are, really.

I’m me- and I’m actually pretty quiet.

Oh- I’m actually a sniper. Maybe that’s the answer?

 

 

Wait, hang on, let me explain- I’m not someone who just uses firearms. I mean, I am but- wow, I’m bad at this. Um. 

Firstly, “sniper” is not… the way I’m using it, it means something very different. I’m a graffiti artist, mostly- but instead of “bombing” like they call it Down Below, Up Here we call it “Sniping”. Then again… Being a sniper… trying to explain it is almost uncomfortable for me. I’m not quite sure how to describe such a personal Answer.

There’s a certain fascination that might come about- the profession is strange and the skill (probably because of how morbid it is) has been sensationalized to hell and back. But let me try anyway.

I’ve spent most of my life learning, using, refining, and living this skill- aside from my Graffiti, which actually ended up… basically the same thing? So, I kind of find it difficult to put into words “what’s it like to be a sniper?”

In my graffiti team, or splatoon- yes, really- older snipers and team leaders look for the more “solitary and calm” individuals that have a “quiet” about them. Some people have a “comfortable knack” and a natural feel for navigating any environment unseen- and with practice and training, this knack becomes a skill that can be polished and perfected. For snipers specifically, another skill is sought-out, honed, and refined- I call it Bubbling, although Mab, with her formal training in psychology, would probably call it Compartmentalization. It’s the ability to block things off and out for long periods of time, excepting specific focuses- for me, visual and observation skills get brought to the fore. It’s basically... it’s the ability to sit still, observe, and calculate- for hours or days, if need be- without losing your goddamn mind.

My job, in my splatoon, has no glory. There’s no real sex appeal in the job- there’s a mystique, sure, but… what I do can be very hard on my body, and it’s not really something I’d want to talk about at a cocktail party.

I spend days crawling, climbing, slinking, stinking- getting bitten by every kind of bug, scratched and snarled in thickets- I’ve peed in weird places, at weird times… I’ve looked through monoculars for hours, slept in 15 minute bursts- all of that in an attempt to get to a target area. Once I’m where I need to be, I do my business; usually in support of the rest of my splat. Then, my work begins again- exfiltration, you know, the art of getting back out of the target area (sometimes with some very angry opposition running around trying to find me).

I went into the splat with just basic sniper skills, but you need very differently refined skills in an urban setting; tactics, equipment, weather, enemies, and ballistic trajectories change dramatically in an urban setting. It’s one thing to be able to hide in a jungle with vast areas of cover and concealment; it’s another thing entirely to be effective in a big city. The difficulty involved is much higher. There’s also practice to consider- I have to know how my paint bullets will interact with every environment, from buildings- walls, glass, metals, and ceramics- to forests, and there’s calculations for temperature, humidity, altitude, payload, loadout- it’s a nonstop learning rollercoaster, in addition to what I have to keep track of for my splat’s missions. Er- they’re not really missions, but… I dunno. It feels weirder not to take them seriously, yanno?

When I tell people what I do, they already have a formed opinion of what type of person I must be, what morality I have and that I must be a little “off”- and I don’t really know what to do about it, other than be very careful picking friends.

 

I hardly ever get the chance to tell people that the skill sets that make a good sniper- not the, the working skills, but the deep ones that need to come with the person already- those skills make for a good artist, too.

I’m not a photographer, like Sisko- I’m really a painter. A person cannot have a fulfilling life with bullets alone- and besides, Mom and Aunt Zippy wouldn’t let me. So I took up painting, and then somehow or other- probably because of Beatrice- I ended up in a splatoon. I’m actually team leader because, well- I’m there to support the team, and make them look good. Most of my actual day to day paint work is usually prep- I’m really good and really fast at preparing a clean, even, one-color surface for my team to go crazy on.

I’m known for that, around town.

I don’t just paint the walls blue, although the tag “D3L” is associated with broad blank spaces where years of graffiti buildup has created an obscuring tangle- and then it changes to something else. You can’t see through to the wall behind- but you can’t see the marks, either, there’s just too many of them all stacked up on each other. There comes a point when you just have to throw out the old, and bring in the new. -I was talking about my process. So- I actually scrub the walls, and clear away years of just plain old gunk with various chisels and scrubbers; I use a lifting mask on the wall to pull up grease and oils which would make the paint fall off.

And then...

Then, rollers and paint cans on a day just this side of too hot and still to make good grafitti; I do best with hard exposure, and hot, dry days, but my team prefers softer light and wetter days. So. I also usually don’t have time to do the kind of painting I like to do. I actually like doing reproduction work- creating reproductions of beautiful artwork is what I do best. I’m not all that creative, I guess- but… no one has ever painted over my work either. I don’t hear as much about my actual “paintings” though; I guess people don’t care as much? Although… I did hear a lot about the one I did where I changed the people from just- whoever- to more modern images, added some of what I call Klimt craggle to the woman’s hair… I didn’t turn it red, though, that would have been a step too far. There’s a more… more me style, I guess? I signed it DEL like I always do, so.

 

I mean. Okay. So I have this habit, when I’m Home, of hanging out in the tall, dark rafters of our house; it’s high enough that unless you know there’s a perch there, you won’t notice me. It was the room with the weirdly angled mirror and it was the middle of the afternoon and… and I swear, I didn’t mean to watch Mab and Mr. Sanji make love together, I just- he **_blazed with light_ ** and she **_soaked him through_ ** and I just- um. Sexual awakening.

Is a thing that happened.

So.

I went to Yuki’s Home, and I went through the many trunks of erotica until I found the Oldest Sutra, the one that’s basically just… it’s half instruction manual, and half historical record of Granuna and Udoroth (THE DEMON LOOOORD~!) Vinsmoke, and all the many ways they fornicated. And fucked. And made sweet, sweet love.

It is said that the [ taijitu ](http://www.messagetoeagle.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/yingyangsymbol121.jpg) is actually an ancient symbol of m’Granny and her Lord Husband (LAYING WASTE TO MAN’S DOMINION WITH HIS SWOOOOORD) boinking each other’s brains out… much like Sanji and Mab do, actually.

 

And then I took the time to, um, peruse the ancient tome, and I redrew a bunch of the pictures, and then I went back to Yuki’s and got the rest of the Good Shit from that particular Trunk- basically the whole thing, and uh.

Well, once Beat saw what I was drawing in my sketchbook, her eyebrows went up and she said “Y’know, it’s generally better if you do life-drawings of stuff like that. Or just life drawings in general. I can hook you up?”

To which I replied, “Please do. Thank you. Um… d’you have any initiate brothers or sisters that are my age? I- um. I don’t really… know anyone.”

“No worries Cap’n. I got’chu.”

 

Here’s what I know, now.

Kissing is _good_.

Licking is _good_.

Sticking your fingers in things is _good_.

Getting fingers stuck in you is _good_.

Kissing, licking, sticking your fingers in, and being stuck with fingers and other things is _good._

Sex is _good_ and I understand why the Maenads call it a Sacrament.

 

And then I painted what’s being called “D3L’s Red Hot Series” and um. I kinda went- well, I very methodically reproduced- with a more modern eye- every image and described position in the Ancient Tome of Taijitu. And uh. Painted them on walls.

And got a bucket of condoms and another bucket of lube packets and tried them all.

Number fifty seven, “Lotus Strains Towards Heaven”, is my current favorite.

I also found the one meant for boys written by Udoroth himself, and after I read it, and copied it all down exactly as he wrote it, with the diagrams and everything, I snuck it into Mr. Sanji’s bag because it’s his by right, not ours.

Mab seemed… very happy, if a bit tired, the next time I saw her, so I think it all worked out for the best.

 

So uh. It turns out I’m not actually a graffisnipe at all, I’m a Maenad. I’m not entirely sure if I’m the kind of Maenad that Beat is, but… there are worse things than a bit of healthful optimism.

 

(I keep my outside-the-house life pretty private from my inside-the-house life; my siblings mostly know me when [ I look like this ](https://68.media.tumblr.com/b51ea2679e946770bdd2569eaeeda8d6/tumblr_nwal69oCZP1qc5fpbo2_1280.jpg).)

 

I think because my Mom is Sooty Ravelle I don’t have the same interest in painting trains as most of my contemporaries would; she built the train system and I’ve been all through the trainyards already. It just doesn’t appeal.

 

 

I helped Martha settle into my house- Oh, I should explain. Each Portgas child has their own space, or household, in Tiffanyan- even Spadey and Asher, probably especially because they’re never here. Spadey has one of the [ basements ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/4c/05/2d/4c052d6228174ef82bd71cd8a3e2166b.jpg) , the Garden one, Ace’s house is the [ Boathouse ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/66/ec/ea/66ecea2369429b9af1588b349a5ceedd.jpg) on the other side of the Lagoon from Yuki’s Tree; and Spadey has one of the.

The house proper looks something[ like this ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/2d/46/1e/2d461e0b178885d67243b4d185038655.jpg)\- but at the richest end of a big city. Tiffanyan has it’s own lagoon, beach, cadres of servants who see to the maintenance and running of the household and garden and kitchen and so on. I’m not sure how to explain how we can go from our individual houses to the main house to have dinner- it’s the only meal Mom and Aunt Zippy both insist on us taking as a family, together, when we’re in residence- but we’ve been able to since we were six.

[ My house ](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1CQ3tKVXXXXbjXVXXq6xXFXXXR/Kingdom-hearts-wood-font-b-house-b-font-font-b-architecture-b-font-on-trees-Home.jpg) is a beautiful little farmhouse on top of one of the higher branches on our home tree; it's called The Tower. Martha took the green guest room in The Tower, and I traded her the little bench at the end of her bed for [ a nesting basket ](https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/04/2d/c3/b9/noe-s-nest-bed-and-breakfast.jpg) full of colorful scraps of clean fabric. [ Her egg ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/9a/00/f8/9a00f8416c7f15cb5f14829266f08066.jpg)is a beautiful green, studded with cabochons. (They aren’t actually gemstones, they’re artifacts of the creation process- they look different depending who made them, tribally I mean. Lanfolk tend to make furry eggs, for example- and no, I don’t know why that is.)

 

She specifically asked me not to shoot Wullie, which is why I haven’t. She ever changes her mind, there’s a bullet with his name on it. Anti-seeds; plant one to watch something die.

Ain’t Murder; it’s… Housekeeping.

 

 

 

Beatrice is… she’s a Pronoia Maenad. It’s hard to explain, because that’s not where I live? But to hear her tell it, the world is built to help the ones who live in it, and getting crunk is the most helpful thing she can do. I dunno if I believe her, but good god can she paint when she’s thoroughly intoxicated. She’s always covered in kandi bead jewelry; she wears mesh halter tops and bright maroon high waisted short shorts, rolls around in special Skuan inline roller skates.

She’s also part of the bedrock which my art-movement is built on; there’s this greeting that friendly squids (we’re in a splatoon, so us individuals are called squids and I guess it’s because of the Squid Sisters who ruled the city for basically my entire childhood) do, and what it goes like is- we interlace fingers, and we exchange bracelets made of ponytail beads on stretchy elastic strings. It’s not as formal as the hapu Automata do, but it’s not as meaningless as the handshake either.

So that’s Beat; there’s also Gum and Mew- there’s me, Del, and Martha is called Marker when we’re all out together. But with Marker busy in the brooding way, my splat’s down a member.

I’ll think on it some more.

 

Graffiti is pretty much endemic to being human- but the art practice I’m a part of originated in the late 1360’s in the Wild Wes Blue. It arrived in the Nort Blue in the 70’s, and transferred onto the Line around Water 7 with their famous train line- so it’s always had a connection to trains. Painting on trains is very fast-moving; you paint it, it goes into service, it goes from one island to the next, one end of the sea to the other. Everyone gets to see the work, and then it gets cleaned off. To some people, it’s all about the movement, the fluidity of it. I prefer the stability and careful contemplation of painting on a wall.

Honestly, I don’t care if no one ever sees my work- that’s not why I paint. I paint because I have to paint. My name ended up all over the city because I find ugly walls I want to clean all over the city, and every now and again I’ll get enough downtime to put up something of my own- something that isn’t just a color. I’ve got lots of walls that are just one color; some of the best ones are what people are calling [ DEL’s Blue Walls ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yves_Klein#Monochrome_works:_The_Blue_Epoch) and- let me say something about that blue.

Solid color and simple geometric shapes are Beautiful, we know this. But this color- this blue- is a wholly invented color. It has the same intensity in liquid and dry states; it is a beautifully deep, rich, bright, even supernaturally, blue color. It is the colored space that can not be seen but which we impregnate ourselves with. It is a wholly invented substance- there is no natural source of this color. As an aside, blue as colorant is expensive as hell, and there are very few ways of getting your grimy artist fingers on it; the kind of abundant, even fields of color but especially blue that I do… for thousands of years, even before the current calendar, my artwork would have been flatly impossible. To see my blue in real life is to walk behind the sky- step through a walled corridor I’ve cleaned and painted blue, open to the air but for a trellis covered in sweet honeysuckle, and you will step into infinity. It is an impossible, supernatural color and I love it.

No one paints over DEL’s Blue Walls. They’ll paint over other things I’ve done- but not those. And not my actual paintings either, the iconic ones. I’m considering doing more aniconic work too. I’m undecided.

 

By the time the graffiti movement came to Skua, the train scene on the Line was pretty much over. The Mayor of Water 7, who would be called the Governor or King anywhere else, had pledged to eradicate graffiti on the trains and made sure that anything that went into service was cleaned before it left the train yard. However, anywhere someone makes art, someone else appreciates it, and so the book known as **_Train Spotting: Art In Motion_ ** opened my eyes to this art form when I was… maybe nine or so? I studied my copy of that book until it fell apart; it was full of traincars covered in graffiti, with names like SEENME, FRANKY, and EYE.CEE. Another book, **_SPrayed On Art_ ** , was my study guide too. It included graffiti on walls; color productions by crews around the World showcasing their talent. By the mid-80s, the graffiti art movement had gone global.

Graffiti’s been a part of my life since I was ten. We always start with names- and mine is a reconfiguration of my two names, Dory and Elvina. Neither of them are much good as far as names go- kinda boring, really.

 

 

 

Martha told me [ the story ](https://youtu.be/c_4u7MTEPKY) of why she came to me for safety over vapes and hot coffee and stroopwaffles from my freezer. Atty likes vaping “Good Vibrations Orange”; I vape the “Soothy Blues” what have chamomile and lavender in them. Something else, too, some flower… patchouli, maybe? Martha likes Happy Yellow, which is lemon, rose, and peony. I worry for her, really.

 

“So. Wullie’d been hurtin’ on me for years, like. Mostly trippin’ me, shoving me into walls, aye. But then- I dunno. I got the Urge, yanno, and I still believed that Wullie’d change if I asked him right. Stupid, but… I was in love. We made the egg together- the first time he’d touched me like that since… Ach, when your heart breaks, you should just die; it’d be faster and easier and less likely to bring innocent children into such terrible dangers. I- I don't understand why I'm not dead. Can you understand that, Del? When your heart breaks, you should just die. But- there's still the rest of me. There's my breasts and my genitals... They're amazingly stupid, like insects or faithful dogs. They don't get it, they just _want-_ they want _him._ But Del...” said Martha.

 

Her hands were shaking on the vape, slim chain around her neck chiming and clinking with each twitch. Her hair was loosely bound with ribbon, and her bruises were blowing themselves into the turning of the day’s light- blistering color. I noticed more details about her face; her chapped lips, the split where something sharp had cut her face open along one eyebrow. Her black hair was slightly greasy- separation is hard on her. Our stroopwaffles are laid over steaming mugs of black tonic, spiked with condensed milk. Through my gauzy curtains, the early summer wind brings the smell of sweet, blooming lilac flowers.

 

“Del, he took his closed fist and he hit me. We never made no kind of formal arrangements- it was always understood that I was Wullie’s and he was mine, but… Del, he **_hit_ ** me. An’if he could hit me, who he swore up an’ down was his only beloved, he could hit the Treasure.” said Martha.

“Mm. Ain’t no call to raise a fist an’ call it love.” I said.

“Damn right. An’ so, I waited ‘till he was gone, and I took my duff, an’ I took my clothes an’ my Treasure an’ I lit out for a place o’safety. I- you’d always said that any of us could come on over if we needed a place to stay, so I took the train- an’ it’s a reduced rate if’n you got eggs or bairns witchoo an’... Thankee for lettin’ me stay a while, Del.” said Martha.

“Of course. Now- you know you can stay for as long as you want, right? I’m- I’m silly rich, or my family is at least, and you’re living here for nothin’ is just a drop in the bucket, aye? My sister Yuki brings her gang of Charnel Workers back here for months at a time when they’re on a dig, and those boys have standing invitations to come on out. Well- I know I’m not the most personable leader, but- I’m telling you, an’ I’ll tell th’rest a them when they call- all of y’all are welcome at Tiffanyan, an’ for something as small as “just felt like it” to as big as “my house burned down” or “I’m feelin’ low an’ don’t want to be alone”; you’re all welcome.” I said.

“Aw, Del- you don’t talk much, but it’s always been clear to me you’ve got a whole lake’s awesome glory inside you, an’ only a spoon with holes in to get it out.” said Martha, smiling.

 

I smiled back, a bit ruefully.

 

“There’s so much lake, Marker. And the spoon is **_so_ ** small.” I said.

 

Martha laughed at my joke. So did I.

We stopped quick though. It wasn’t that funny.

 

We sipped our coffee, munched on warmed up stroopwaffles. We talked more, but mostly of inconsequential things- carefully talked around her Sea Longing. She’s had it for a long time, but what with Wullie- and I suppose she’ll think hatchin’ her egg and keeping the treasure within safe is more important than actually being content with her life. Ach. I’ll think on how to say it to her, I guess.

 

 

 

Martha gave me a list of things she’d like to have. Shampoo, conditioner, comb, brush; Automata Cleansing kit; WD-40; a one meter coil of No. 8 wire with the galvanized coating; a pair of hay-hook replacement handles; a pack of [ brass pins ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/074/1/7923075/il_570xN.821646571_ktg7.jpg) ; pack of Anuse Screws, Washers, and Knuts; a pack of Sunshine Yellow vapes; and a new bead chain for her glasses. Martha wears glasses like Mab does; but hers aren’t cat eye, they’re [ big and square ](https://img0.etsystatic.com/020/0/6107039/il_fullxfull.569866310_kdal.jpg) . As far as I can remember, Martha and Mab were… I think they were roommates in school? They have the same prescription, I think. Mab would talk about accidentally grabbing Martha’s glasses sometimes. Actually, looking closely- I think those **_are_ ** Mab’s. Hmm. There’s half a plan bubbling in my head. I’ll give it time.

Very different approaches to fighting though- Mab will run you through with her spear quicker than you can see to worry, have your guts on the floor quick enough you’ll see them before falling over; Martha will slink up right behind you and strangle you with a garrote. If she’s pissed off enough, the whole head will pop right off the shoulders.

I prefer using plain old bullets, right through the eyes- one and done. I use small enough rounds that they go through and they don’t come out the other side- they rattle through the skull, turning the brains to mush. If it was me who shot Mab, and not my brother Spadey, Mab would have died.

Spadey’s a bit of a soft touch; I am not.

Again, Martha specifically made me promise her that I wouldn’t shoot Wullie. Apparently, she has plans for him.

Chances are, she’s gonna do like Mab did, and Wullie’s going to lose both his heads.

When Martha lit out for the City from Tiffany Harbour, she took her clothes, her kid, her work kit, and her charnellements- everything else, she left. She might have a few pictures in her treasure box- but she was more concerned with getting away, I think. She left a letter, and she left her… ex fuckboy, and she left Tiffany Harbor.

Ach, let me speak on other things.

 

 

So… Asher and Fee had a bit of a spat one Famband, resulting in Asher burning his guitar and scarring his hands for life. I weren’t all that privy to what all they agreed to, but Mava acted as Arbiter and they agreed to trade guitars. Now, I suppose that’s as fair a trade as any, where music is concerned. Ace and Felix are real different people- I won’t go into refinement or who they really are or nothin’ like that.

That ain’t mine to say.

What I can say is that Felix’s guitar is [ a nineteen string sitar guitar and electric harp ](http://cdns3.gear4music.com/media/15/157927/1200/preview.jpg) . It’s a complicated instrument, made of white Adam wood with a coat of varnish that crackled black. It’s **_gorgeous_ ** . It’s also not Ace’s style at all- he **can** play it, but… Watching his face when he traded the guitar Mab had to make for him, for the guitar Mab restrung for Felix…

I can only describe it as a squirmy half guilt feeling, that feeling you get when you get a gift you didn’t ask for and don’t want, but you have to accept it anyway. Nothing about trading your instrument away is fun.

They played each other’s guitars for about a hundred and forty nine minutes. And then Ace and Felix talked real quiet-like to each other, and traded their guitars again. Felix played some of the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard on her white guitar. As for Ace, he got his [ three string interamp cigar box guitar ](http://www.jagshouse.com/cbg/images/blackdontomalittlemojo/angle.jpg) back and played the kind of porch music to make your heart sing when you’ve got no money in your pockets and no food in your kitchen. He actually went into a hard enough [ trance ](https://youtu.be/1mPtpZOTtV8) that Beat slowed down and swayed to his music.

That’s no simple feat.

It was a strange Famband for a number of reasons; I was wearing [ my hair up ](https://68.media.tumblr.com/b49e17697c3f27784bcbb4ed76e10e8f/tumblr_nwal69oCZP1qc5fpbo1_1280.jpg), which surprised all my siblings except Mab, for one thing. For another, I introduced Martha to Ace. Had a bit of a thought- Martha’s as good a sewing professional as Mab, just focused on ships, not clothes. An’ Ace needs a sewing professional still, and… I don’t think Martha realized she could keep her treasure with her on the open sea. Her egg hatched out a few days before Famband; and I dunno why she was so worried.

Cordula got along fine with Delilah, and was real quiet when she noticed Ace’s Skwids. Sweet boy, a little shy. Very, very brave. Has four arms, just like his mama- and two, like his sire, making it six in total; cute little dude. He’s going to be [ _something_ ](http://orig03.deviantart.net/cf6b/f/2012/036/b/a/asura_by_sandara-d4opgar.png) when he grows up. His compassion, even now, sets him apart- I’ve no idea what he’ll be when he’s got more power to back him up.

 

I say he’s very brave because, when Fizz the Fursnake came Down from the Sky to eat Delilah, Cordula was the person who dove after her-

 

This is how it happened.

 

It was an overcast day- and Felix or someone could explain about Fursnakes but suffice it to say they’re the unholy cross between your vindictive in-laws after a divorce, a giant python, a barn owl, and pure liquid spite. Teacher Easeelie, and yes, Teacher was her real name- she’d made some kind of deal with the Fursnake Fizzarrdia, a massive behemoth snake if ever there was one.

Now, there’s one thing you ought to know straight off the bat- Cordula carries [ a backpack ](http://68.media.tumblr.com/10e7eff0c716b4091d487c5e2007f6f7/tumblr_nnnjr51EMb1qj0s5to7_1280.jpg) on his back, and that pack is full of useful items- he’s not strong enough to carry a full ‘venture kit around with him, but he does have two things in that pack of his that are very important- for this story, especially.

Firstly, Cordula has a Giant’s [ Grocery Net-bag ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/58/77/9b/58779b9c3918ddcd15b4f39096cba2b2.jpg), because he wanted one large enough he could use it as an emergency hammock- which is sensible, really.

Secondly, Cordula has a set of [ knives ](https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5374b15ce4b075c0a115f820/5488f685e4b0427fd09de086/548f102de4b068057bfc4623/1418661934549/IMG_1479.jpg?format=500w)\- one for each hand, and two extra, just in case. They were made for Martha by Mom, and they have individual names- but all together, they’re called the Eight Pillars.

 

Now it happened like this- there was a sound in the air like _crack_ and then descending like a rockslide, like the clods of stone what kill men dead dead dead. A [ ribbon ](http://img15.deviantart.net/14b3/i/2006/183/2/2/flying_snake_by_ironshod.jpg) of flesh that fell and flew and fell and moved with the same deceptive speed of a titanic wave- and Delilah, who had been playing on the rails of the Moby. Well- Delilah, for all her good temper, is still less than a year old. She has no battle experience to speak of; and when the Fursnake Fizzardia bore down on her in what she thought was a place of safety, she froze.

Cordula did not.

He had been walking behind her, on the rail- and when the dread Fizzardia lunged across the decking to devour his new friend, Delilah, Cordula threw her to the flat deck and leapt into the [ putrid mouth of the serpent. ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/e4/68/5b/e4685b4deef0924bcda8517a7ab93ffe.jpg) The snake swallowed him whole and alive, and flew away cackling- to the horror of his friend, Delilah, and his mother, too. Everyone was horrified, actually.

Now, it might seem like Delilah is a calm, collected cucumber of a child. That is a damfool thing to believe, because she inherited her Pop’s stoneface- she did not inherit his current temperament. I think I might have been the only person not all that surprised that Delilah, upon the realization that her friend had just saved her from being eaten by a giant flying snake, leapt back onto the rail and screeched loud enough to wake the dead, “HOOOOOOOIIII! FANG-FACE! **YOU MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSED MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!** ”

 

And then she stood there and waited and the snake bent over itself in the air and bore down upon her again, this time lunging directly for Delilah. Right about when Fizzardia would have opened her mouth to devour Delilah- right about when it was too late to dodge and too late for the horrible monstrous snake to change her course- right about then, she flinched, stumbled over herself midair, and gave an opening to Delilah.

Delilah didn’t miss her chance- she timed it perfect, leapt in th’air, and kicked that snake to the sound of gasps and a symphony of crackles in flesh- the sound of bones popping as they break. Delilah then snapped her hands out, dug them into the fur of the snake, and started kicking the ever loving shit out of it- shouting, between horrific curses I dare not repeat, “SPIT HIM OUT YOU HORRIBLE MONSTER! SPIT! HIM! OUT!”

 

Eventually, Delilah pinpointed the spot where her friend was in the snake’s gullet, and started targeting the areas around that spot specifically.

The girl just kept kicking the snake- _bap-bap-bap-bap_ \- until there was red blood and chunks of snake stuck to her legs and arms and stomach and face, and the whole of that enormous snake was deflating in death down to the size of a child-killer, true, but not the massive monster she had seemed in life. And then Cordula stabbed his way out of the snake, his shoulders laden with- with-

Well.

I dunno how exactly it happened, but there were four person-eggs in that snake’s gullet what hain’t been digested, and…

Well, it went like this.

Delilah and Cordula, covered in slime and viscera and blood, Cordula staggering under the weight of four babe sized eggs in a net bag over one shoulder and the both of them stinking-

Delilah has a bit of tunnel vision, coming right out of a fight. She’s carved in the likeness of Cu Chulainn, and after a fight like that… putting her back into her body’s a trick and a half. Thankfully, Marco knows how such things are done, on account of Delilah having already faced an enemy of this kind before- I’m quite sure Mab or Easy or Yuki told him what to look for and what he needs to do.

Which is why he’s started carrying a canteen and hanky on him at all times- his flask is full of coffee; his canteen is _for Delilah._

 

I wasn’t close enough to hear what exactly got said- I wasn’t even really aware of the fact that the serpent king, Fizzardia, was dead- on account of my own battle instincts being the kind that takes a real long moment of concentration to soothe back down.

Anyway.

 

Marco’s brooding Seven big, blue, beautiful eggs in his personal quarters now.

Apparently, every time Mab does the Changeling Ritual, there’s a coin-flip chance of making three additional children. Mind your heads.

 

They hatched a week after that- and Delilah is now the eldest of six girls and one boy. The girls are, in order, Delilah, Erica, Forsythia, Gardenia, Hydrangea, Ixora, Jasmine, and Lisianthus. The boy, Lisianthus, only answers to ‘Polo’, however. Unfortunately, his legal name is still Lisianthus, as no one could stop Marco before he wrote down the name.

Perhaps most funny of all of these things is this- [Marco](http://orig13.deviantart.net/7f7a/f/2015/315/0/2/the_pineapple_and_the_nurse__marco_x_reader___by_rukia2011-d9gben4.jpg) looks like a Pineapple, just a bit. So does [Delilah](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/f6/e6/6b/f6e66bbbe52a863d3422ef4c141b0131.jpg), and [Erica](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/c6/98/a6/c698a638e209dca3aee40b3b7d2f8381.jpg), and [Forsythia](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/2b/32/77/2b32775621058e9da3c93a96fcb04adf.jpg), and [Gardenia](https://curlonamission.files.wordpress.com/2014/09/pineapple.jpg), and [Hydrangea](https://www.justcurly.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/DSC_1406.jpg), and [Ixora](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/f2/ef/5c/f2ef5cf8191d8aa201b2930b67194036.jpg), and [Jasmine](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/c3/ba/43/c3ba432e4054e69414f47492180c51d4.jpg), who needs glasses. Polo looks like a [coconut](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m08zk3grxW1qjp8hpo3_1280.png). So, seven pineapples and a coconut walk out of a bedroom...

According to Marco’s Popstache, Marco shouldn’t be allowed to name anything, ever, but… honestly, those are all lovely flowers. Atty gave him a book of flowers with the pictures printed right next to the flowers, along with a quick little reference for what those flowers mean, and a little about how to grow them- and he just went down the alphabet.

They aren’t bad names, it’s just… it’s kinda hard to do anything with Lisianthus.

So anyway.

 

 

Mew, Beat, and Gum agreed with me- when I noticed that Mab and Martha were having them a long, quiet talk, after everything. Martha needed that last little confirmation; and my housekeeper, Ms. Lawrie, had already packed up for her. I’d gotten all the toiletries she’d wanted previous to Famband- all that was left was her beaded glasses string.

Because I’m the leader of our splat, I’m the one who has to retire the kandi for new purposes. It’s somewhere between flash and substance- people use different beads and patterns, and you’ll be able to tell a lot about a person from the kind of kandi they wear. It’s not like the maenad-specific culture, where it’s literally just adornment and part of their pronoia; it’s a bit more utilitarian than that. Specifically, for splatoons, kandi acts as an identification system. Kandi is always handmade; sometimes to the point of handmade beads. Squids will use different colors to represent themselves, and some squids- like me- have unique colors. Not many people go running around with Del Blue on their left arms.

Oh um- right arms give kandi, left arms take it. You cross over, give to take and clasped fingers crossing, lift yourself from your arm and place it on anothers as a mark of your favor. That’s what Beatrice told me, anyway; she taught me the traditional greeting, and she gave me my first piece of kandi as an induction into the culture. Beatrice comes from a specific kind of tribal dance culture that supports my newer artistic movement…

She said something I’ll never forget.

 

Beatrice said during my initiation that it was never a trouble for her to support the artistic movement of Pronoia Graffiti Revelry; she said… god, let me see if I remember. Ah, now I recall- she said this.

 

“In many ways, it is easy to be critical. There’s very little risk involved with criticism; you enjoy a position of power over those who offer up their work and their selves to your judgement. You thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to create and dispense.

“But as truth is bitter, so is this- in the grand scheme of the world, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than any criticism designating it so.

“There are times when a critic truly risks something, and that’s in the discovery and defense of the “new”. There’s something new, every day. The world is often unkind to new talent, new ideas, and new creations. The new- needs friends.

“Today, I met someone new- someone I’d never met before. In supporting them, and our seedling relationship, I support all things that are new.

“There is a famous motto in Skua; “Anyone can dance.” In the past, this motto has been mocked and derided- but I think the meaning of the motto wasn’t quite clear. The meaning is thus: Not everyone can become a great artist, a maker of things; but a great artist can come from anywhere, and can be anyone.

“It may be difficult to imagine the new world, and the eyes that will see it- but that is why we’re here. I bid thee welcome, Del of the Blue Walls, an’ offer a token of friendship.” she said to me.

 

And then we partied all night long.

 

 

 

Every squid has their own nickname; mine isn’t just Del, like my family calls me, it’s Del of the Blue Walls. Mew is actually Mew the Megabomber, Beat is Beat of Floorstamps, and Gum is Gum Sticker Stamper. Marker Model Maker- we each have our own specific focuses when it comes to graffiti.

I paint things blue most of the time. I’ve painted walls- I’m actually famous for a path that leads all through the city, this long narrow corridor that cuts out the sounds of different specific parts of the city. Beat walked on it once and came back and told me that it was like walking backwards through time- which is what I was going for, really.

Mew does things like paint roofs in such a way as to… if you look at them from above, you can see all kinds of things. Her work isn’t linear, it’s cyclical- which is why it’s best viewed from above. Her work also tends to encompass half the city.

Beat does floor work- she’s combined her practice as a maenad and her artwork to create these intricate… she calls them “Dance Paintings”. She paints with her feet, I think? I dunno, I just paint the pavement she asks for white or whatever, and then… they’re intricate and aniconic and incredibly beautiful.

Gum does stickers- I think I said that Marker does stickers? I misremembered, and I’m sorry. Gum does the stickers; she does intricate lace stickers that are huge, and she does small little picture windows into “Other Places” the size of fingernails.

Marker goes in completely another direction- she does things like put warm and comforting jumpers and mufflers on statuary. Trees. Benches. She tucks handmade stuffed animals- obviously meant for comfort- into statuary children. She’s really an amazing sewer.

 

 

Shit, I was talking about kandi, and the last thing on Martha’s list. Right. So- Mew’s kandi uses an asymmetrical selection of [ random lucite flowers ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/000/0/5308784/il_fullxfull.227655819.jpg) in her kandi. It’s always very abbreviated, made of seed beads in mint green and these enormous frosted lucite flowers.

Gum uses tiny hearts and stars, in a very specific nine one nine pattern of hearts to stars; in all [ sherbert and sugar colors ](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0033/2252/products/13x13x7_hole4mm_bright-color-pearly-finish-plastic-star-beads-2_1024x1024.jpg?v=1457303669). There’s also a specific sort of bluntness to them- it’s the nine one nine pattern that marks her as herself, not the beads or the colors themselves. Her right arm is a smorgasbord of different bead styles- but every piece of kandi she gives away is that same pattern of nine one nine repeating.

Beat uses [ little rice-shaped ovals, in almost iridescent rainbows ](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1oeLvLVXXXXXkapXXq6xXFXXX0.jpg) and tiny [ dangling star shapes ](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1uhjJHVXXXXblXpXXq6xXFXXXL/-Min-order-10-20MM-500Pcs-pack-Mix-Colors-font-b-Star-b-font-Shape-Acrylic.jpg). She’s whimsical, but also very traditional- she came to graffiti from the Pronoaic sect of the maenads, which have full sanction from the government to do their work. A very traditional woman with very liberal views- her kandi is the most traditional of all of my splatoon’s but with an edge of pure postmodern humor.

I use clay, mixed with my [ signature blue ](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lPnq1LfYxKo/TorXHeVqXAI/AAAAAAAABec/WFeQY5znW_U/s1600/Bead+Lot1.JPG). It’s a complete departure from the normal style. I’m… I won’t go so far as to say there’s no one like me, but Beat’s been in this for a long time. She told me that she never quite saw anyone do what I do so consistently- and honestly I believe her.

 

Anyway. I took a piece of kandi from each squid in my splat, and I restrung them as [ a necklace for glasses ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/46/74/18/467418fbd5c78ea895b7bf711757f70c.jpg), like Martha wanted. It was our going away present for her, because I’m not stupid and…

 

When I do iconic work, I’m really- they’d call it faking, up in the Lure. It’s a fact- what’s new? The Expert. Experts are the new oracles; who are greatly pretentious. They speak to us with the attitude and authority of a computing machine, pretend to Know something, but they only know very superficially. And we bow down before them. They’re God’s own gift to the Faker, which I guess I am. If you didn’t have an art market, you couldn’t have a Faker.

I waited until after Martha and Mab traded glasses- the pairs they were wearing and all their spares. Mab looks herself again; so does Martha. Then, I gave Martha her glasses strings. She didn’t cry, but it was a near thing. There are those that might say that ‘Mab and Martha were always themselves, no matter what their glasses shape was’; to them I say, ‘Ah, but I can show you a faking Mab and a faking Martha without hesitation.’

Can't fake out a faker.

I Know Martha. I Knew her on sight alone, same as Ace did. Just as I Know that painting the walls blue is art, even if it’s an art that cannot be captured in pictures- to get the full effect of my work, you have to go and see it in person. There’s a quality in the color that just isn’t visible on film. I Know this. Drives Sisko crazy, but she Knows it too. And I Know this: You make new friends, a new family, all the time. But you don’t have to abandon the old one if you don’t want.

Which is why this is the advice I gave to Martha when she admitted to her old splatoon that she was still a little bit in love with Wullie, even though he was a right rat bastard.

 

“Martha, there are some people you’re just always going to be a little bit in love with. Your high school sweetheart, Wullie; your first ride or die friends; Whitebeard’s 16th Division Commander, Izo; your Captain; your daughter. Just accept that it’s normal and move on.” I said.

“Um. One of those was not like the other.” said Martha.

“What, Izo?” I said.

“Yeah.” said Martha..

“Have you seen his clothing? Izo smart! Izo pretty!” I said.

“Oh my god, you tiny fruitfly.” said Martha.

“I mean, yeah.” I said.

 

And then we both laughed because- I dunno. Sometimes friends just laugh with each other for no real reason at all.

 

* * *

 

So my sister, Del, is actually my _brother_ , Del. Took me a while to figure that out, and then I got to have that conversation about gender with Izo. Not fun- but necessary. For both of us.

I'm a very manly man; so is my brother, Spadille. And, by the standards of Skua,  _so is Izo_. Gender is a made up social contract that no one has to follow if they don't want to- and it's been eating at Izo for a while. 

So.

We talked. We also talked about my baby brother, Del. Del’s crush is obvious and really kinda squirm-inducing- but also very cute.

 

 

And if Izo even **_thinks_** of acting on it, I will kill them.

 

That’s my little brother, there; there’s some things that Are Not Allowed.


	23. 12:00; They Call Me... Gutterati (It's High Noon Somewhere)

Dear Journal,

I was a musician for a circus during the Separation. Not one of those nice mom and pop outfits, but one of those new, subversive and frightening circuses. It weren’t like farm life at all- same kind of work ethic and discipline needed for the actual job portion, but the surroundings...

People like to romanticise life on tour, but it’s basically like any other job, with working hours I was already used to. Wake up, eat, start work, work, party, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat; six to eight shows per week, with Songdays and Moondays off. Some cities are awesome, like Sabaody and Water 7; some are bleak as fuck, like Murmaska. I laughed a lot during my touring years, and I cried a lot too. I mean, it’s a lot of fun being in a big traveling show, but… I also had to be far away from my friends and family, where I wanted to be during my off time.

A typical day for me would be to wake up around four thirty in the am, train my body to keep muscle tone and skills sharp, then as everyone else woke up, have a shower and breakfast before doing musical practice if we had a show that afternoon or doing gun practice if we didn’t. I actually started coming up with trickshots out of boredom, and began figuring out how to do interesting things with fireworks, colored waters, and illusions in the mist. This usually draws an audience of circus performers who don’t have much to do on their off days.

If it’s an ‘On’ day, I do everything before breakfast the same, but since it’s a show day, I do practice my musical abilities- gotta practice my rhythms, tones, songs, and techniques, then I’ll run errands and go to the big top for afternoon rehearsal. Afternoons on site are used for soundchecks and adjusting music cues for if we have a sick acrobat or new horse-type animals. If there’s someone new or someone missing, the music has to be changed a bit. We also have band meetings during the afternoon. (Acrobats, clowns, equestrians, and so on will train, do yoga and other conditioning exercises, reblock their routines, warm up and train the animals, and so on.)

Either way, after training comes dinner, make up, line check, soundcheck, and showtime.

Everything’s over around ten pm, and we’re all doing our own thing from then on. Pretty much every night, I usually go out drinking with the band.

Love, M. M. Reed

 

 

Dear Journal

Sanji would know how to cook ----- but I don’t think I can get a letter out to him. Anaria is nice, but fractious.

Love, The Bronze Bomber, M. M. Reed

 

 

Dear Journal,

So before I tell this story, I’m changing everyone’s names. These guys are my friends (even John, though he’ll lie and say friends are for lames) and I already messed up one of them because I told this story to Mab and now she holds it over her. Anyways, this story is pretty fucking typical because we were drunk like, 9000% of the time we were all living together so… When we were in the Circus Band, we lived together in this awesome ass  [ vardo ](http://cabinobsession.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/ofeature.jpg) ; a fuckin’ rad as shit place that… well it was meant for a family of six adults and who knows how many children and it was the fuckin’ BEST. We fucking ruined that place several times, and I got to flex my carpentry muscles. Fuckin’ BEST.

I might end up talking about John, who drilled holes in his wall after parties, or the kitchen fires, or the fireworks, or the times we set our bathroom on fire, or the jacuzzi that almost electrocuted me. We fucked up a lot there, like- I should be dead, considering what we did in there.

 

So, counting me, there were five of us in this Vardo meant for eight- six if you count Pete, which I don’t for reasons that will soon become obvious.

I have this one bandmate- we’ll call her Paul. Paul is a fucking stock genius; she trained as an accountant and regularly makes like, 2,000,000 a quarter because she just fucking knows how the market will go. She has so much fucking cash on her at all times, and she’s so fucking nice if you’re like, short for the round of drinks or you ran out of food money she’ll spot you no questions. She’s Mab’s cousin, but her name isn’t actually Paul.

I fucking love her but only if she’s down for that and only if my partners are cool with it. Consent and communication is important, friends.

 

So yeah, Paul has mad cash but Paul also has fucking problems. I mean, we all have problems, but Paul’s problem is catalogue shopping. Motherfucker loves her some catalogue shopping; but only when she was drunk, and always some crazy shit. That woman has like, 3900 pairs of fucking crotchless panties because dude you lose some you gotta have some spares you know?

So before I moved in, Paul was dating this girl. Total sweetheart, she really cared about Paul, they were fucking adorable and shit.

Anyway, after I moved into the Van (that’s what we called it), any night we went out partying and she was with us, she could stop Paul from doing stupid by distracting her with sexy. The problem was the nights when she couldn’t go out with us because Paul would do something stupid and buy some shit. We never stopped her because she’s a fucking catalogue and auction ninja. But Paul’s girlfriend would always check her ordering receipts when she came over to nuzzle to see if she bought anything stupid. She got mad at Paul about buying weird shit because Paul always bought weird shit. So Paul started shredding her buying receipts when she drunk shopped because she didn’t want her girlfriend to get mad. They broke up because of different life goals, which is always super sad.

But Paul still destroys her shopping receipts because habit. Which means not only is there no way of knowing what she’s getting until after it gets delivered, it can’t be returned either. So yeah, when we all moved into the Van, what with Paul destroying her shopping history- this is one of those stories.

So I came back from one of my training runs and outside our Van is a peliporter and not like one of the normal ones, this was like a fucking pteranodon, this fucker is massive. And there’s a pair of albatrosses in front of our Van with this box that’s bigger than the both of them combined and I’m just like ‘oh fucking no please dear god please and all your beautiful sons’ and they’re like “are you Paul?” and I literally swore so profusely that a blue streak was smeared across the grey winter sky. I can’t explain how that works other than I was just so fucking mad, holy fuck I’m getting mad just thinking about it.

So I sign for the package because I’m only mostly a dick, not a complete dick, there aren’t many people who are complete dicks. So this box is 243 cm tall and 121 cm wide; it’s fucking big. Our Van only has the three ways to get into it: the front door, the back door, and the roof access.

I wasn’t getting this shit inside alone so I literally sat on our stairsteps and stared at this giant pine box, fuming and cussing it out, until two of our roommates showed up- George and John. They got a winch and a rig and we fucking hoisted that shit in through the roof of the Van. So we three are staring at this fucking huge ass box in our living room like three tits just staring at this box because it’s addressed to “fukc you” but it’s our Van and Circus on the label so it clearly belongs to someone who lives here- or someone’s done and mailed us a comically large bomb and we’re all about to fucking die. So two more of the roommates showed up- Pete and Yoko- plus a few fuckbuddies and suddenly there’s like seven people in the Van staring at a box like “what the fuck is this shit?”

So Paul finally wakes up and sure fucking enough it’s her fucking box. So she goes and gets a nail puller and opens that fucker up and holy fucking shit were we unprepared for what was inside. Totally related fun fucking fact: in the local waters, defined as the ocean surrounding islands for almost five kilometers, you’re not allowed to catch and keep sharks. However, you can take pictures and measure it and take them to those taxidermy weirdoes and they will make you a fiberglass replica of the shark. You can mount that fucker up on your wall all day every day hell yeah hell yeah hell fucking yeah dude.

Paul opens this fucking box and starts digging through the fucking packing straw and she makes this face because she’s just caught something and she pulls up a fucking fiberglass shark by it’s MOTHERFUCKING MOUTH and all of us are just like “what in the everloving fuck is going on” and she’s just like “oh so that’s what I bought” with like literally NO FUCKING REACTION TO THE GODDAMN SHARK SHE IS HOLDING BY THE FUCKING MOUTH SKUANS GO HARDCORE. So yeah, we all kinda laugh it off and we’re like “this is going up in here right, this is fucking awesome” and she’s dead ass like “no this is going up in my room” and we all laugh because how in the the flying fuck is that shit going to work; then she drags the fucker down the hall and forces it through her doorway and we’re all like “okay then” and that’s all I heard about it for like two months.

 

So jumping forwards two months, we’re all cleaning everything out of the Van for the annual fumigation. We were also going around and looking at all of the damage we’ve caused so we’d know how much to buy for repairs and like holy shit some of it is BAD. And then we get to the guy next to Paul’s room, Pete, and I almost shit my pants. Pete also ended up just moving out entirely because he got a real job or some shit like that. Lame.

Pete was the dude in the room next to Paul and let me tell you Pete was ALWAYS FUCKING HIGH like I bet good money his first words waking up were “wassup” or some shit. Usually on Peyote, but I’m not calling a friend Peyote, that’s mean.

Good drummer, though; nice to have a backup.

Anyways, we get to Pete’s room and I walk in and staring directly at me is A FUCKING SHARK HEAD. Apparently, when Paul tried hanging the Shark up she got coffee drunk first then also predictably got annoyed at how fucking hard it is to properly mount a FUCKING FIBERGLASS SHARK and straight up just smashed it through the fucking wall. Pete didn’t notice for probably a fucking week.

So I’m like “what the fuck is this shit” and Pete’s like “oh yeah, that’s The Duke” like, like he fucking named the fucking shark coming out of his wall. So have you ever been to a Circus party? Because the acrobats and shit are always looking for excuses to fool around, and there’s always at least one clown or band guy with a fishtank and they’ll always ask “d’you wanna come back to my place and check out my fish tank” and it’s always an excuse to go and bone. That’s what Pete was doing with this fucking shark. He would ask the acrobats and dancers he was hitting on if they wanted to see a shark head and then they would vape a bit, and take some drugs, and fuck like rabbits.

Anyways it takes all six of us to get this fucking shark out of the fucking wall and we found our Van wasn’t up to code because there’s literally one stud in the wall- and only that wall- but that wasn’t important because we broke the fucking shark and Paul cried like a bitch.

Love, M. M. Reed

 

 

 

Dear Journal,

Congress is all a pack of children and I don’t care who knows it.

Love, The Bronze Bomber, M. M. Reed

 

 

 

Dear Journal,

The best parts of working for a circus are as follows: living in cool Grand Line cities. Getting to work in new enviroments, as a musician, a dancer, and a gunslinger. Working with amazing, creative, talented, beautiful, intelligent people- and after a long, hard conversation with Luffy and Usopp, I had sex with some of them too. Horses and horse-type animals.

The worst parts of working for a circus are as follows: the show must go on. The show must always go on. There are no sick days. Flu? Gotta play your show. Both eyes are infected, pus and slime is oozing from your eyes, blind as a bat, and can’t take off your protective eyepatches for the next several months? Tough shit mang, you gotta play your show. Food poisoning? Gotta play your show with a vomit bucket beside you, out of sight from the audience. Band drama or troupe drama, for that matter, because two people are sleeping together, but one of them slept with someone else last night? Gotta work that shit out offstage and give your all while performing. Every six weeks, we have to pack it all up and move to another city, hoping the new fairgrounds are okay (some were nice, some were muddy, some had flowers, some had flies, and one had an honest to god poultrygeist NO I’M NOT FUCKING MAKING THAT UP). Routine; it’s the same show, with the same numbers and the same people, day in and day out. It can get boring, considering I was used to sailing on the Line and had to go to basically a regular every day job. With that said, my home life more than made up for the humdrum of my work life.

Like okay, I said we were all drunken messes and we trashed our Van literally every six weeks but you don’t UNDERSTAND MANG you don’t GET IT. There were five of us in the Van, but there were eight bedrooms total, plus kitchen, living room, and individual baths. The kitchen is actually always the last thing we end up trashing, which is a shame- it’s usually a lovely room, all done in tile and with tough appliances. Interestingly, it’s usually the tile or the stovetop we trash; the fridge, freezer, and oven tend to escape harm, probably because we all agree that messing up where most of us store and cook food is a BAD FUCKING PLAN. Living room is in a constant state of more or less trashed; it’s in fact the first thing we tend to trash, with an average two week life cycle for the furniture. As for bathrooms, I can’t say for anyone else, but my bathroom is more or less fine- I use it as intended, and I don’t have a huge amount of anything, really, to keep my hygeine up.

The last three bedrooms at the back of the Van are hella small and we couldn’t find anyone who wanted to room with us because we were FUCKING JACKASS MONSTERS so we just use one as a storage room for our instruments and one for wardrobes and the last one was empty for the first three months. Then fucking Paul happened again. I really shouldn’t say that because we were all super happy with this one it was pretty fucking awesome.

So we were hanging out in our Van on Moonday and we’re all drinking and carrying on and the roof of our Van fucking opens and we hear Fucking Paul screeching for us so we go check out what’s up and she’s standing on the roof balancing another fucking pine box on her shoulders. The whole fucking roof is taken up by a box- except the part that’s open. We pull it down into the apartment and we’re like “what the fuck is this shit” so we open it and it’s a fucking inflatable hot tub.

We’d all been drinking for probably almost three hours at this point so we’re all decently drunk; clearly the only reasonable thing for us to do is to continue drinking come the fuck on now, what did you think we were going to do? With half the band being Skuan? Try to set up the hot tub while downing coffee shots like boss bitches? YOU ARE ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY CORRECT WE PUT THAT MOTHERFUCKER IN THE EMPTY SPARE ROOM AND BLEW IT THE FUCK UP AND FILLED IT WITH FUCKING WATER IT WAS FUCKING RAD AS FUCK!

So yeah by then it’s like six pm on a Moonday, we don’t have a show tonight so we were throwing a party that night. So our friend, let’s call this asshole CBGB, shows up to DJ our party. One thing I’ve learned- unless it’s Brook and Bry on the job, you gotta have a DJ or some fucking rando will try to take over the fucking music and play some fucking bullshit Souten industrial noisemusic and make everyone think we’re the kind of voyeuristic perverts who listen to Automata having sex and record that shit. Southies are out of control. So CBGB shows up and he starts drinking with us and it’s like seven now and he looks at fucking Yoko like yo where the fuck do I set up my shit?

So fucking Yoko; this dumb motherfucker I love him guys but he’s as dumb as a bag of hammers. Fucking Yoko looks Darren straight in the eyes and tells him to set up in the fucking hot tub room because why the MOTHERFUCK not. So Darren goes in and sets his gear up and we’re all fucking telling our roadie friends about our sweet new hot tub so it’s a strictly swimwear shindig no exceptions; no substitutions accepted. Accept no substitutions. I can fucking hear John laughing at me, motherfucker.

So we have this party and it’s not like the fucking riot but it’s definitely a rowdy party and it’s all going great. Then all our fucking lights go out and everyone’s freaking out until Fucking Paul turns on this fucking strobe light she bought and everyone’s back at it like nothing happened. So Yoko and I go to find out what happened and we’re walking through the Van checking all the usual places because this isn’t the first time this has happened. We get to the hot tub room and there’s water all over the floor.

Two acrobats were splashing each other in the hot tub because they were coffeedrunk and high as balls and that’s what people do in hot tubs when they are both of those things. They were splashing into the tub and back out onto the floor and the dripping water from their bodies shorted out the fucking powerstrip for all the DJ gear so badly it tripped our breakers. Darren was in the bathroom eating some guy’s ass (Go Darren Go!) so he was fine and I’m pretty sure almost all of his gear was fine but yeah, that was the time I almost got electrocuted because those girls dragged me into their drunk and high dance party.

The hot tub survived another five months till Water 7 and the Riot, at which point Luffy, Usopp, and I dragged it into my room to replace my bed- long story- and popped that motherfucker like a balloon. Luffy got off anyway, so it wasn’t all bad, and I’d already learned my lesson from the mini-goat debacle to keep all my shit either strung up in the rafters or on high shelves, so nothing got destroyed- and considering how often we flooded that place the first six weeks, we’d added drains to every room for just such occasions.

Love, M. M. Reed

 

 

 

Dear Journal

Shot a bunch of people at Congress. Should have shot them twice.

Love, The Bronze Bomber, M. M. Reed

 

 

 

Dear Journal,

Being in the circus is actually really fucking fun, but it’s also a lot of fucking hard work. The circus I ran with swelled and shrank in size, depending on where we were. Sometimes, it was like one of the big mainstream circuses, like the Cirque La Lunes, or Heloize, where everything is basically handled by the circus technicians. We’d travel with the show if we weren’t installed somewhere, I’d perform with the band, and that was it until next show. Most of the craziest shit I did came from those times.

Sometimes, it was like the smaller circuses: we all had to help set up the tent, we did our own rigging- all of which could take three to forty hours depending on the weather, the size of the tent, our cast, and how hard everyone was working. Then, we had to do our act for the run, the tear down at the end, and go on. I personally hate setting up and tearing down tents. It’s like this- permanent structures have their own spirits. So do impermanent structures. If you fuck up taking down a circus big top, the spirit of the tent screams like nothing else.

I do like the animals; there was a dog act for a few runs, and that was nice, and the horses are really beautiful too. Some of them are trained for military work, so they’re fine with guns firing on their backs; sometimes, their trainers would have me work with them out in the lunging ring to teach them how to handle weird shit they wanted to try in the top, and I’ve gotta say- I actually really like doing that kind of thing. I was the person who they’d grab to see if it was possible, and I’d always give my honest opinion on whether or not someone who wasn’t me could do the trick. Most of the time, the answer was yes- I can really only think of two times the answer was no, and the second time the answer was a resounding “hell no”. They did it anyway and the equestrian broke three ribs and they had to put down a horse for burns so- they listen to me, now, when I tell them “no, not if it isn’t me”. And everyone knows there has to be literally no other choice for me to be the performer in a show, I’ve got nearly no stage presence. It’s great if you’re a drummer with no solos- people should be paying more attention to the rest of the band anyway. If you’re supposed to be jumping a horse through a series of progressively higher flaming rings? And be cool looking too? Yeah, no.

I feel bad about the horse- they’re animals, they don’t quite have the same type of spirit a person or a place might, but… they have souls. I can hear the souls of all things, but I mostly listen to ships and so on; not really animals and people. Not unless they’re twisted, or in pain. The horse was screaming, not just in it’s body, but in it’s soul too.

John has a soul- it’s not twisted, it’s just dark, maybe? But he’s not actually evil; he’s… amoral. Like a shark, or a forest fire, or- ah. Interesting. I can hear all the normal emotions in his heart, but there’s like an artificial block that separates his feelings from his higher cognition; he has emotions, he just can’t connect his thoughts to them. Weird shit. I don’t know how to help him, or even if I should.

When I wasn’t traveling, I was staying with Miss Shakky and Little Issun Walter Rayleigh. I’d go back to Sabaody during the off season, work on Sunny’s farm, babysit Issun so Miss Shakky could have a break, and work in the bar to up my unarmed skills. Miss Shakky also taught me skills she’d never written down in her fighting journal- little skills like how to keep your hair neat during a gun battle, and so on.

I actually ended up giving Issun  [ my old hat ](https://i.ebayimg.com/00/s/MTAwNlgxNjAw/z/fY0AAOSwm0JYDU5H/%24_58.JPG) because somehow he was born with stripes of white blond hair? Patches, really, and he doesn’t like being stared at so I gave him my hat. Then my hair started getting everywhere so I braided it down into two long braids and got a really fucking awesome fedora to wear around. I fucking love  [ my hat ](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2016/05/04/09/33D00DFF00000578-3572696-image-a-34_1462350352044.jpg) , oh my fucking god. I also gave Miss Shakky one of those White Shell Snails what makes phone calls secure so she could call Old Ray and tell him about Little Issun if she wanted. I also put her in touch with Bryony, so she could actually get in touch with Luffy, who could get in touch with Old Ray. Miss Shakky did end up calling, but it took a few tries to catch them.

I didn’t know that Old Ray actually has tear ducts.

Love, M. M. Reed

 

 

 

Dear Journal

I yearn for my boys. I miss them intensely.

Love, The Bronze Bomber, M. M. Reed

 

 

 

Dear Journal,

Alright this story’s going to be a short one because it’s not the fucking Sock Wars one so here we fucking go.

It was as we were moving out the first time because fumigation and we’d literally just broken The Duke and Paul is crying like a little bitch. She would later buy Freddy, a FUCKING LEATHERIZED BANANAGATOR SHE HUNG FROM THE CEILING SO FUCK YOU PAUL. I’m maybe a little bit annoyed still because there was shit like The Duke in every fucking room. We moved on to Paul’s room- Pete literally just goes through the hole in the wall I mean why the fuck not- and then we get to Yoko’s room.

Yoko has some scorch marks from various fire activities that happened in his room mainly I think fireworks but I don’t actually know. The point is shit’s fucked. Everyone’s laughing about it too because each scorch mark is a beautiful, stupid memory, like the time I threw a flare in his room or the time I threw a cherry bomb in his room or the time we had roman candle wizard duels and he tried to hide from me like a baby and I hunted him down and set his hair on fire on accident. I’m just now remembering like half of these were my fault and the other half were a combination of him and John like 100%.

Anyways we laughed about it for a while and then we moved on to the next room which is the room of the last dude we lived with, our guitarist, John. John is a special case because he gave his name as John- which is obviously a fake name for reasons  [ that should be quite obvious ](https://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/8/86/Niji_Anime_Concept_Art.png/revision/latest?cb=20170403161143) , maybe not right now but later. I don’t know why he was in the FUCKING CIRCUS of all things, and I’m not sure I really want to know.

So John had a thing about people coming into his room. If he wasn’t going to sleep with you he didn’t want you in there. None of us ever went in there because respect his personal space like, that’s a basic part of not being a steamy, fly attracting piece of shit. So none of us knew about the holes.

John was not an idiot- okay, yeah he was an idiot but this was a thing he wasn’t an idiot about. Have you ever heard of the spins? The spins are when you lay down when you’re too drunk and you get really dizzy and then you get motion sickness and vertigo because it looks like everything is moving but it’s moving differently from the way you feel like you’re moving. It’s basically like sea sickness except you drank too much.

IT’S BAD SHIT IS THE POINT.

So an easy way to fight the spins is physical activity but only to a point. You gots to be careful; anything too acrobatic and you’re gonna yak. Actually, John did that once but that’s another story that I’m probably going to save as blackmail because holy shit. 

HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

Anyways, if we had someone over for the night it was all no worries because the spins can’t fuck you when you’re fucking someone else. The problems would come from nights where someone didn’t have someone else to play with. Really, the best way to avoid the spins is basically- stand up, do not lay down or go to sleep or you will yak for sure; if you’re ever going to sleep and you feel dizzy, like, you’re gonna yuck-chuck, just stand up and go do something for a while. If you can’t do that, roll onto your side and bend a leg so you don’t drown in your own puke. That’s how we nearly lost George.

Each of us had our own way to fight the spins: Yoko would mess around on his guitar, Pete would listen to music, Paul would shop because of fucking course she would, George and I played card games together- but then there was John.

THEN THERE WAS FUCKING JOHN.

Just in general, guitarists are fucking weird. Like, they’re all a little bit off, and I’m including myself in that assessment. John was not an exception. If John was solo for the night he would sit in his room with a cork screw and drill holes in his walls until he felt better.

So we walk into his room and are greeted by hundreds of thousands of tiny little holes in the walls, like all the way up the walls. He would fucking stand up and shit and reach up for those motherfuckers. The most terrifying part of this was that every single hole was exactly 63 milimeters away from the holes around it, precisely. I measured. Fucking terrifying. We literally stood there in horrified awe, dumbfounded- because there was just no fucking way this was for real. And John is just like “yeah, not gonna lie- kinda disappointed I won’t be able to finish this” like WHAT EVEN WAS THIS IN THE FUCKING FIRST PLACE. WHAT DID YOU FUCKING START HERE IS THERE LIKE A SECRET FUCKING MESSAGE FOR YOUR SECRET ALIEN GUITARIST OVERLORDS A-TITTYFUCKING-MEN IN A PAPER CANDLE BOAT.

So there’s like ten minutes of just stunned silence followed by ten more minutes of pure desperation as we try and fail to understand why John would do this- what the fucking hell has even happened here, holy fuck. Then fucking John just walks out of the room like “alright guys let’s keep moving this is nothing special”, and that’s the reason no one should trust John alone with pets or small humans. Like, holy fuck dude.

Even if your crush on Yoko is the cutest bout of denial I’ve ever seen, you are not going anywhere near any small creatures in a vulnerable state. I don’t trust it. I’m also not entirely sure how you convinced Paul to be your beard, or why you felt the need to even have one, but okay dude.

You do you.

Love, M. M. Reed

 

 

 

Dear Journal

Rifles are my third favorite. Bazooka’s are still cooler.

Love, The Bronze Bomber, M. M. Reed

 

 

 

Dear Journal,

This is the only part of the conversation I had with the Ringmaster of the Circus- the only part I can write down. I can’t write down anything about what I did in Anaria, nothing of what I learned, or why I feel comfortable wearing jewelry now when I didn’t before. I can barely talk about the trek I undertook across the desert of Baltigo, that summer season.

But this is what I can write down.

 

“Talent won’t be quiet, doesn’t know how to be quiet- can’t be quiet. Whether it’s a talent for revolutionary actions, joke-making, gunslinging- it screams to be used. It won’t shut up, and it won’t be denied. You’ll wake in the middle of your tiredest night, your talent screaming at you- “use me, use me, I’m tired of sitting here fuckhead, use me!” So. I’ll take you on, Bronze Bomber- but I don’t run the kind of show that needs a gunslinger.” said the Ringmaster.

“I understand.” I said.

“Do you? It’ll be your damnation, boy. Your talent will make you wear out a thousand pairs of boots on your walk to Hell. Still, who am I to say what’s right for you? Your talent is your talent- but… do you have any other skills?” he said.

“I’m Skuan, sir.” I said.

“Hah! You’re in the band, then- this is a key to the Band’s Vardo. Here’s the contract- two years, and when do you need to be gone by?” he said.

“I need to be in Sabaody by New Year's the end of the second year.” I said.

“Tricky, but doable- you’ll have to arrange your own transportation, of course.” he said.

“Of course, sir. Won’t be a problem.” I said.

“Hah! Think so, redbird?” he said.

“Think what you will, blackbird, for I’ll be here long after thee’d gone thy course and died thy death.” I quoted.

“Death, but not for you, gunslinger- no, never for you. You’ll darken; you’ll taint. But you’ll go on.” the Ringmaster sniggered back.

That’s how I was signed onto the Small Feat Circus as a Musician and Odd Jobber.

JOHN IF YOU KEEP READING THIS JOURNAL I FUCKING PROMISE YOU I WILL SHOW UP AT YOUR WEDDING AND TELL EVERYONE ABOUT THE TIME YOU PUKED IN THAT GIRL’S MOUTH DON’T THINK I FUCKING WON’T. THIS IS YOUR FIRST, LAST, AND ONLY WARNING.

Love, M. M. Reed; The Bronze Bomber

 

 

 

Dear Journal

John’s blood is very viscous; peeling it off seems to work better than scraping or washing. Odd. Lacy Panties Trap worked wonderfully. Will increase to pornographic images if he won’t back off.

Love, The Bronze Bomber, M. M. Reed

 

 

 

Dear Journal,

Okay, story then I have to finish this journal entry and fucking GO TO SLEEP.

I mentioned this story earlier already, but it’s fucking spectacular- get ready to hold onto your nipples this shit’ll twist them right the fuck off, it’s insane.

Alright so, we were throwing this riot- let’s be honest it was like, so far past a party at that point, it was a whole different level. We were fighting with fire, like literally cotton oven mitts wrapped in cotton strips soaked with hand sanitizer and then we light them on fire and punch each other it was FUCKING RAD AS SHIT.

 

I tried to draw a pelican with a naked mermaid in it’s mouth but I felt guilty by proxy so here, have  [ a guy fighting a tiger in a hurricane ](http://fav.me/d2legat) . So yeah we were drunk and we were fighting and we also have flare guns because I don’t fucking know we just did.

 

We should have died like no joke, I should not be telling you these stories because I should be dead and sea buried. So we were drunk and rioting and making terrible decisions except for Yoko. Yoko is being a suave motherfucker; he’s talking to a girl named Tina- anyways Yoko and Tina are hitting it off. It’s very obviously going to result in sexy times but the only problem is that before Tina showed up Yoko agreed to firefight me and guess what motherfuckers IF YOU PROMISE ME A DRUNKEN FIGHT THERE BETTER BE A DRUNKEN FIGHT OR THERE WILL BE HELL TO PAY I DON’T FUCK AROUND WITH THAT SHIT.

So Yoko tells George “hey I’ve got this thing I need to eat it’s super important can you take my fight” like that’s literally what he said so George is just like “sure dude yeah I can do that” because George is a precious angel but the problem was I’d already fucking fought George that day and Yoko and I had some recent roommate issues that we had to deal with and cards on the table I just really wanted to fucking punch Yoko in the throat with my BURNING FIST.

So there are some issues that I need to take care of because of the combination of overly subtle double entendre and me being too drunk and focused on punching and or shooting things to notice Yoko trying to get his game on so I do what was really the only reasonable thing to do I take out my drunken rage and disappointment on George.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAAA NOPE JUST KIDDING I GRABBED A ROAD FLARE AND LIT THAT SHIT AND I CHARGED INTO YOKO’S ROOM SCREAMING LIKE A BANSHEE.

So the real problem here is Tina only partially understood how fucking insane we are I THOUGHT I WAS FALLING ASLEEP BUT NO, FUCK YOU SLEEP SCHEDULE.

She was NOT prepared for a screaming young… am I a man? Am I a woman? Well, either way I was covered in neon paint- we were painting ourselves and things got interesting because we were also playing strip poker for the chore list AND I GOT FUCKING LAUNDRY DUTY AGAIN I KNOW THESE FUCKING PIECES OF SHIT ARE RIGGING THE OUTCOMES BUT I CAN’T PROVE IT but anyway Tina was not ready for a young person covered in neon paint lobbing a flare into the room and trying to punch her partner in the face while she lay naked in his bed. To be fair, I think maybe one or two people would have been, and she wasn’t one of those people.

To be more fair, I don’t think anyone was ready for Yoko’s response which was to launch out of the bed, whip off the condom mid-air, and slap me across the face with it.

Guys.

Nothing stops a fight quite like getting slapped across the face with a used condom. Like for most people there probably is like a disgust part to it like “ew that was on a dick or in a vagina or in someone’s anus and now it’s touching my face” but really for me it was more the disappointment in myself for interrupting someone having fun. Like if I ever interrupt someone having sex it will literally ruin the whole rest of my day, that’s not cool; party foul dude, party foul.

Anyways there’s some loud apologizing and I throw the flare back into the hall and also threaten to punch anyone who follows me into the room. I leave and I fight George but like my heart isn’t really in it, you know like, I’m punching him but I just don’t feel anything. Yoko and Tina had a great time after that though and they hooked up a bunch of times after that so YAY HAPPY ENDING EXCEPT FOR YOU JOHN Your crush is getting really obvious. Like, dude. If you need someone to talk to about it, I will listen, you know that right? There’s nothing wrong with you, you know that, right? DON’T PRETEND YOU DON’T READ THIS THING I ALREADY KNOW YOU DO. EXPECT A CONVERSATION THIS SONGSDAY, OR SEDERDAY IF YOU PREFER; AND RUNNING AWAY WILL NOT STOP US FROM TALKING ABOUT THIS FUCKER.

 

Also I eventually did have that fight with Yoko and I may or may not have punched him in the throat and made him throw up. Fun fact: if you drink enough Skuan coffee or booze in general, your vomit is flammable.

Love, M. M. Reed aka The Bronze Bomber aka Red Ringo

 

 

Dear Journal,

The band I joined in the Circus has a super sentai theme. I’m Leader Red. What is my life?

Love, Mark

 

 

Dear Journal,

John, I’m going to shoot you in the fucking ass. Is you a Man though? POP! Is you a Man, though?!? POP! Why all these men be lyin'? Why they gotta be lyin'?

Love, Mark

 

 


	24. 23:00; Turnabout Triptych

 

Danelphe, Ezra, and me are the only people currently- in our family, at least- who have our own Lapel Badges without question. Yuki’s on the road to earning hers; and Mab was declared dead for a bit, so I’ve been helping her with the paperwork to get reinstated. Midwives actually have medallions; it looks something like a heart, which is the formal one on seals and official stationery; the one on the actual medallion that Mab is allowed to wear is  [ a lotus blossom ](https://previews.123rf.com/images/casejustin/casejustin1202/casejustin120200023/12392268-Buddhism-Symbol-Golden-icon-of-Buddhist-faith-Lotus-blossom-Wheel-of-Dharma-white-background--Stock-Vector.jpg) . Mab’s already been through two of the three necessary Midwife Trials, and I’ve already filed her paperwork- all she needs now is the last Trial and she’s done. She’s also sponsoring Taffeta as a midwife for some godforsaken reason; I mean, I guess I understand the need for more midwives, what with the intense baby boom going on right now, but holy god do I not want that job. Nope nope nope. Spadey’s not in good standing currently, so he’s not allowed to wear his- he can have it on his person, he just can’t wear it openly yet; and Ace is studying for the one he wants.

 

 

If you go walking down a Faeland street in any town or village, there’s going to be at least one or two people with a law-related job, and you will know them on sight because of their badges pinned to various portions of their outfits. Some of them might have familiar logos, or even specific flower blossoms on them, but that’s just branding, really. In matters of the Law, the Badges have a special significance.

 

My badge is the most famous, the  [ Trial Badge ](https://img0.etsystatic.com/038/0/8102770/il_570xN.655593106_60rv.jpg) ; worn by Trial lawyers of the Defence. The scales and sword at the center are an obvious symbol of justice, and if anyone asks me- which, usually they don’t- I’ll tell them straight out: the flower is a sunflower, not a chrysanthemum. This is Significant; or it is on the Noble side. Flower code is old and extensive; Mab, I know for a fact, says things she can’t say out loud in flowers.

Anyway.

 

If you spend enough time around Trial lawyers, you’ll notice that our badges are not all the same color. All new lawyers get a shiny gold-plated badge. However, unless they pay extra for a real gold badge (which few do), over time the gold wears away to reveal the silver underneath. Mom paid extra to have mine be real gold, and the surcharge to make it nearly indestructible, and the add on for the runes which make it reappear in my pocket if it’s ever stolen or lost. There are very, very few badges in circulation like mine; and the few that are have two of the attributes I mentioned, not all three. (It’s because I’m a Morgan; there are Rules and Standards.) Anyway, a silver badge is the sign of a veteran among the Fae Lawyers; some novices will try to enhance their credibility by keeping their badges in a coin purse to accelerate the aging process. The really cool lawyers, however, wear their badges backwards, with only the pin cover showing; the actual badge being revealable by a flick of the lapel, should they be called upon to prove their status.

 

The reason Mom paid for the three things I mentioned is… well, firstly I’m a Morgan, even if I don’t use the name, and so there are unspoken expectations. In the old days, the name Morgan was synonymous with the gold standard. It’s a system by which paper or semiprecious metal currency can be exchanged for gold; it was abandoned in Skua shortly after the Exodus of Four Kingdoms. However, because of that, the honor of the Morgan name became synonymous with the Promise of Money and the Promise of Fair Trade. Even if I never use the name, there are some things I just can’t do, the honor of my blood won’t let me. So- if my work badge is meant to be made of a specific material, it will be made of that material- with a few adjustments for practicalities sake.

 

Secondly, Gold is a flimsy metal and Mom didn’t want to take chances.

 

Thirdly, the runes. If a lawyer’s badge disappears, say, at the dry cleaners; well, then they have a problem. The badges technically belong to the Skua Office of Law, which only lends them to lawyers who, according to the Office’s Rules on Lawyer Badges, must return them if they are disbarred, convicted of a crime, declared bankrupt, or dead. (It’s the same for doctors, nurses, and charnel workers, although you have to last five years in the Tombs before they give out that badge.) Moreover, every Skuan Lawyer that practices in Skua has a unique attorney number that is engraved on the back of their badge. It’s not just a matter of going to the SOL and getting a new one out of the bucket-o-badges; they have to make one just for you, engraved with your number and a symbol indicating that it is number two (or three) for you. Notices of lost Trial Badges are published in the Office Gazette (the government’s official newsletter), so everyone even remotely connected to the actual running of Skua will know that you lost your badge. Of course, no one actually reads the Office Gazette- except, of course, for lawyers.

 

Still, losing the badge seems to happen a lot: According to my entirely unscientific review of recent issues of the Gazette, a couple dozen lawyers get replacements every month, including the occasional registered non-Fae lawyer (their badge has the same design, it’s just smaller), so perhaps it isn’t a terribly hard process to go through. However, it will definitely get you teased.

 

Trial Badges are not decorative; if you have one, it means you’re an expert in your particular field, and trusted to carry out your duties responsibly and effectively. Practice Rules of Law require mine to be worn when performing lawyerly duties (though there is an ID card that will suffice for most purposes), and all official Rites- birth, coming of age, marriage, death, etcetera- must be officiated by someone with an official Trial Badge. Different Badges have different Rules; I know Mab's badge makes her a safe option for abuse victims and survivors for a number of reasons, for example. The badge has a long tradition, and is a well-established way of confirming a lawyer’s status; important in a courtroom or police lockup. The ability to represent people in court, visit detainees in jail, and force Offices of the Government to disclose information is all conferred by the badge; by law, attorneys are vested with various special powers, so the badge serves as a simple way of identifying these individuals. One is also needed to officiate a marriage.

 

 

 

Before I go too far, let me state the Seven Laws. The Laws of the Sky number seven, and they are thus: An’ it was Promised, all that live must one day die. Remember the creation of the world, and all in it is holy. Praise and give thanks for all the creation of the world. Do not Murder. Do not Rape. Do not Steal. Keep thy Word, as it is given.

Seven Laws. Break those Laws, and you're gonna have a very Bad Time.

Of course- there are times when you must break the Law, for the safety of yourself or another who cannot come to their own defense. It’s Wrong to break the Law- but sometimes, you have to. But- you have to remember.

If you break the Law, and you know you’ve broken the Law, then know this: you might not be forgiven for the breaking.

 

Practically speaking, it is agreed that there are levels of breaking the Law. 

Kostecki the Deathless broke the Law by becoming Deathless (as he could not be killed except under specific, nearly impossible circumstances), but he didn’t break that Law Absolute by becoming Undying. 

Not knowing the method by which the world was created due to ignorance is one thing; knowingly spitting on the sacrifices of those who came before us is quite another. 

Not saying “thank you for the meal” before eating is poor manners; slaughtering every animal in a specie to extinction is an Affront to God. 

Death is a Transformation; Murder is Wrong. 

Bad Sex is when you or your partner don’t know what the hell you’re doing and you don’t know how to tell them what to do- or you’re both too drunk to really care (it’s not necessarily illegal, it’s just disappointing); Rape has to do with power, not sex at all (and is definitely Illegal). 

Stealing food from a field and eating it then and there because you’re hungry is forgivable; stealing a farmer's livelihood, their only horse or draft animal or cart, is Theft Absolute and unforgivable. 

Honor is binding; if you can’t be trusted, you have no place in the group, society, or country (all of which are built on one another).

 

Breaking the Law is Wrong. But if you have to break the Law, remember that you might not be forgiven for it.

 

 

 

So this is the trial I actually did myself, like in Court. No, not like, In Court.

 

Call it the  **Turnabout Sweeps** .

 

 

The judge’s gavel went Clack-clack-clack.

 

“Order! I will have Order in this court!” shouted  [ the Judge ](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/aceattorney/images/8/8d/Judge_Portrait.png/revision/latest?cb=20140518204217) .

“Not until Mr. Paign concedes that his witnesses testimony is R-R-RIDDLED with holes!” I trilled confidently, punching directly at the Prosecutor, Whatley Paign.

“Th-that’s impossible… t-there must be a mistake!” stuttered Paign.

“The only mistake here, Mr. Paign, is arresting an innocent professor and his twelve year old child.” said the Judge.

“N-no! No! No! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaugh oh noooooo!” wailed Paign.

 

**NOT GUILTY**

 

So, after I won my case, I was out in the lobby getting ready to go when Aster called me. (It’s important to realize that the first time I met Aster was when he was being accused of murdering his older brother, Quarrel Mistburrow (may he be at peace). He didn’t, of course, but- well, anyway. Aster gets arrested a lot. Usually for murder. He’s never murdered anyone, as far as either of us know for a fact; he’s a spirit channeller, too, so. I mean, he’d know. He took vows against murder, too, much less the whole “illegal” thing.)

 

**DAY 1 (72 HOURS REMAIN)**

 

“Tilly? Tilly, please, I need your help!” said Aster.

“Aster? Aster, what’s wrong?” I said.

“Tilly, it’s Crunchy. He’s been murdered...” he said.

“What?! What happened?” I said.

“I… I may have killed him...” he said.

 

So, of course, I went to see Aster in jail. I was let in, walked into the detention area where there’s the glass wall you can talk through to your client on the other side? And there he was, in his white hooded robe with the red mountains on. Aster.

 

“You know, if you keep ending up here, they’re going to name a wing after you.” I said.

“That would be nifty...” said Aster

“Um… serious question now. Did you murder one of my childhood best friends?” I said.

“No! But the police say I did!” he said sharply.

“Why?” I said, quietly.

“Well, I was staying at the hospital where Crunchy volunteered...” he said.

“-Crunchy volunteered at a hospital?” I said.

“Since a few weeks ago, yeah. But, last night, he goes up on the hospital roof, and...” he said.

“...and he took the hard way down.” I sighed.

“Tilly, I know I seem tough- but I could never hurt Crunchy!” he said.

“Yes, um, I know that very well. ...I’m going to help you prove that you didn’t do this.” I said, determined. (Aster couldn’t even do the slap game with Crunchy because Aster is as close to a pacifist as you can get without actually being one.)

“But- but Tilly, how? Inspector Noopwright has witnesses and evidence-” he said.

“-and you have me, so it doesn’t matter. Besides, we’ve been through worse, right?” I said, encouragingly.

“We have.” he said, quietly.

“Someone out there killed Crunchy Rollo, and whoever they are, they tried to pin it on you. But we’ll find them, and we’ll smoke out their lies in court and we’ll burn their shady evidence for the whole world to see.” I said, a certain spark in my eyes.

“Where do we start?” he said, catching that same certain spark.

“I think I’ll speak with some of the witnesses.” I said, musingly.

 

So, I went to the hospital.

 

Heesis Noopwright Detector is a detective that gets assigned to every case he can manage to get his hands on; he does best with murder cases. He comes from a long line of police officers, everything from inspectors and chiefs to medical examiners and filing clerks. He goes by his middle name, Noopwright, to avoid being confused with his sister, Shaysis Noopwright Detector, who is also a detective. Her proper title is also Inspector and she goes by Inspector Detector; thus, her brother Heesis goes by Inspector Noopwright to avoid gender bias and filing confusion. I think one of their cousins works almost exclusively with cold cases, so they’re called INSpectre Detector? It’s a complicated mess of nicknames, I guess.

 

Anyway. Inspector Noopwright speaks informally at all times, which can be a bit grating, but he’s also a decent cop. Not a good cop, who always follows the rules- but a decent one, who does what’s right. It gets him in trouble pretty often, which gets his pay docked. I take him out for dinner often enough that… Honestly, I’m considering making a lump sum gift to him this Yule so a minor disaster in his life doesn’t become a major catastrophe. Still, I can’t really talk, what with my… well, nevermind.

 

 

“Hey, pal! Funny place to dispatch an ambulance, right?” said Inspector Noopwright.

“Save it, Inspector Noopwright. I need information. What do you know of Crunchy’s murder?” I sang.

“Seems like he fell off the roof, pal.” said Inspector Noopwright.

“Got any trace of foul play?” I sang.

“I don’t ask questions. I just sweep.” said the outdoors custodian.

“What did you find inside of the body?” I sang.

“Here’s my autopsy report.” said the coroner, Dr. Hotti.  [ An uglier man ](https://68.media.tumblr.com/f9744a9053e2bee991411fc4ee748fde/tumblr_inline_onemns4ugy1r2o9ev_540.png) I’ve yet to see.

“Have you a bead on any leads? ‘cause I need it today.” I sang.

“Actually, a witness is missing.” said Inspector Noopwright.

“Missing?” I said.

“Yeah! Our Blue Cutie security officer! Up on the roof we had her stationed!” sang Inspector Noopwright.

“-and this Blue Cutie was a witness...?” I hummed.

“Filming the world through cold, dead eyes.” said Inspector Noopwright.

“So the murderer removed her-” I hummed.

“Oooogh-ooogh-ooogh-oogh-ogh.” sang...  [ more beard than man ](http://data.whicdn.com/images/193251371/large.jpg) .

“Uh- translation?” I said.

“Beats me, pal. He keeps saying that.” said Inspector Noopwright.

“I think a view from up on the roof could undo a few lies-” I sang to myself.

“- **GET OFF MY ROOF** , you twin bun numbskull!” sang Ms. Naga. How many jobs can one woman have!?

“Hey, Ms. Naga! You work here?” I squeaked.

“Find someone else to go impugn!” sang Ms. Naga, glaring hotly.

“Look, my friend’s on trial for murder-” I said.

“Take it from me, that boy is a killer!” sang Ms. Naga.

“-Have you even M-M-MET him?” I trilled, shocked.

“The push and the fall, I saw it all, in the light of the moon!” sang Ms. Naga, sneering.

“I have to go. But Aster’s innocent- you’ll see!” I said, backing away because holy shit Ms. Whinedy Naga is more than I want to deal with unprepared.

“ **STAY OFF MY ROOF** , Cottonball!” Ms. Naga shouted at my retreating form.

 

My hair isn’t actually that fluffy, she just knows it annoys me when someone says that. She is the worst person. Thankfully she didn’t get pollen all over my work clothes, like she usually does. 

[ I wear ](https://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/streetfighter/images/f/f9/Chun-Li_%28XvSF_Alpha%29.png/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/203?cb=20121013114722) a tuxedo-sport striped cling-cut jumpsuit, lace up fighting shoes, and a jinbaori all in yellow and blue. Wrist bracers because I have to punch a lot of things to and from work, it's bananas. I keep my badge pinned to my chest when I'm at work at all times. 

When I’m at work, I wear my hair in a pair of buns high on my head. In Court, I usually cover them with white or yellow bun covers; outside court, I just use hair ties. I don’t wear bells unless I’m dancing, and my hair is not fucking fluffy, dammit. I'm not- soft.

 

 

Anyway, with my current investigation time used up, it was off to court. Wouldn’t do to be late. Aster and I carefully reviewed his case in the Defendant’s Lobby. Well, I reviewed his case; Aster was a bit too worried to really be helpful.

 

“Anything useful?” said Aster.

“Hardly. This is the worst autopsy report I’ve ever seen!  _ Lots of fractures. No pulse. Time of death- _ it’s just a picture of an eyeball!” I said.

“Thaaat’s not an eyeball...” said Aster.

“Portgas D. “Tilly” Tigerlily Orlaith! Murders have a way of bringing us together, don’t they?” said Sue Yiu.

“No, not- Yiu!? Please tell me that you’re not prosecuting this case-” I said.

“I am.” said Yiu.

“But why!? You know Aster’s innocent!” I said.

“What I  **Know** is Mr. Mistburrow’s alleged innocence will be difficult to prove without an amenable prosecutor. Better the devil you know, Portgas. Good Luck.” said Yiu.

 

With that, we went into the Court. It’s  [ a big gallery ](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/aceattorney/images/1/1e/Courtroom_3.gif/revision/latest?cb=20100902212826) , with the  [ Swan of Justice ](https://www.spreadshirt.com/image-server/v1/designs/12436972,width=178,height=178/swan-bird-symbol-goose-fowl-wings.png) in tile on the Debate Floor. The witness stand is situated so that the judge can keep an eye on everyone in the trial. There’s the traditional  [ Sword and Scales ](https://image.shutterstock.com/z/stock-vector-court-and-justice-emblem-scale-and-sword-symbol-of-the-moral-force-in-judicial-systems-struggle-68330692.jpg) symbol behind the judge- I’ve got a less ornate one on my Badge.

Anyway.

The Judge entered; and we began.

 

 

Bang-bang-bang went the gavel.

 

“The Trial of Aster Mistburrow for the Murder of Crunchy Rollo will now come to Order. Is the Prosecution ready?” said the Judge.

“Ready, Your Honor.” said Yiu with a graceful (mocking) bow.

“Is the Defense ready?” said the Judge.

“Ready, Your Honor.” I said in a firm, squared up stance (and voice).

“The prosecution calls Inspector Heesis Noopwright Detector to the stand.” said the Judge.

 

“Calls came in approaching midnight.” sang Inspector Noopwright.

“Calls at midnight-” I hummed to myself.

“Someone died due to a fall-” sang Inspector Noopwright.

“What kind of fall?” I sang.

“Tell us about the fall, please!” sang the Judge.

“Claims were made that Mr. Mistburrow shoved him.” sang Inspector Noopwright.

“Mr. Mistburrow shoved Mr. Rollo?” said the Judge.

“Here he’s seen right afterwards in the hall.” sang Inspector Noopwright.

“Excellent photo...” said Aster, rubbing his neck.

“There’s something strongly very wrongly- OBJECTION! Where’s the face here to ID?” I sang loudly.

“Looks like he’s facing the wrong way...” said Inspector Noopwright.

“HOLD IT! That’s his outfit, you can see!” sang Yiu.

“It is! That’s totally  [ his outfit! ](http://images3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20111202163313/finalfantasy/images/8/87/FFTWhiteMageMale.png) ” said Inspector Noopwright.

“OBJECTION! Those are clothes! Who knows who’s wearing those robes underneath!? Where’s the proof that he was up on the roof-?” I sang.

“Oh! Here’s the shot where he leaves-” said Inspector Noopwright.

“W-W-WHAT?!” I trilled.

“Hey, that’s me- oh, um. I have a tendency to sleepwalk…” said Aster, pulling his hood down over his face, embarrassed. That would have been nice to know  _ earlier, _ Aster.

 

“Every killer knows their victim.” sang Inspector Noopwright.

“By and large, that’s true-” I hummed.

“Aster Mistburrow knew Crunchy Rollo.” sang Inspector Noopwright.

“Don’t slow the Rollo!” hummed Yiu.

“Don’t expect me to Rollover here-” I grumbled.

“Not sure why Mr. Mistburrow picked him.” sang Inspector Noopwright.

“Picked the victim?” said the Judge.

“But we fear it’s clear that he went nuts.” sang Inspector Noopwright.

“Pretty unlikely, because I can’t vet this story yet- OBJECTION! On arrest was Aster sane?” I sang.

“Now that I think about it-” said Inspector Noopwright.

“HOLD IT! That’s an easy thing to feign.” said Yiu.

“Actually, it’s way harder than it looks.” said Aster. I cringed.

“OBJECTION! There’s no motive here- OBJECTION! To that idea too! I’ll Object to each ridiculous point proposed by any of you!” I barked, Scowling at the court.

 

Whoops. Went too far; yeah, Yiu gave me a “cool it down” gesture. Shit.

 

“Ms. Portgas! Please do desist disrupting court! We get the gist! No need to constantly insist- OBJECTION!” growled the Judge in an alarmingly musical way.

“Of, course, I know, but-” I hummed, wincing.

“No ‘TAKE THAT!’s- and no retorts! No second chance; no last resort; I’ll hold you in contempt of court!” sang the Judge, glaring at me.

“CORRECTION! My witness has more to add. Detective, update your testimony!” said Yiu.

 

“Sure thing, pal! When the night guards found the body-” sang Inspector Noopwright.

“Poor dear Crunchy...” sang Aster.

“Led by Ms. Naga and her Team-” sang Inspector Noopwright.

“Such a- scary- shady-” I hummed.

“-surly- lady-” Yiu whined, rubbing at her eyepatch.

“It was brought to Dr. Hotti.” sang Inspector Noopwright.

“Dr. Hotti?” I hummed.

“Aster was arrested near the scene.” said Yiu.

“I’m really, really sorry but- OBJECTION! Where’s the proof that Crunchy fell?” I shouted, drawing the stare of the Judge.

“Other than the messy chalk outline, pal?” said Inspector Noopwright.

“TAKE THAT! There’s his photo ID badge as well!” sang Yiu.

“HOLD IT! How do we know the victim went up, outside, on the roof?” I sang.

“OBJECTION! If you claim that your defendant’s being framed-” sang Yiu.

“-and if you argue he’s to blame then all the same I ask you-” I sang.

“WHERE’S THE PROOF?” we shouted at each other.

“OBJECTION!” shouted the Judge, to everyone’s gasps.

“-Did I do something wrong?” said Inspector Noopwright.

“I object to wasting my time going in circles like this! Verdicts are required in three days, and this sing-songy yammering has already cost us one of them!” said the Judge.

“Y-y-yammering?” I trilled, arms akimbo.

“I thought it was rather catchy...” grumbled Yiu, rubbing at her eyepatch again.

“You’d best both examine some evidence and try a bit harder going forward. I expect a far better performance from you tomorrow!” said the Judge.

“Oh, you’ll get a performance...” I grumbled, gripping the bared skin of my upper arms so I don’t break the Defence desk again, they make you pay fines for that.

“COURT ADJOURNED!” said the Judge.

 

CLACK went the gavel.

 

 

**DAY 2 (48 HOURS REMAIN)**

 

I should explain. Flyting is a style of argument where the debaters use a specific rhyming scheme to insult their opponent, with style points awarded for each well thought out and delivered slam. Modern slam poetry and rap-offs draw their styles directly from this older style of argument and insult. Modern lawyers also draw their argument style from the old Flyting style; with the key difference of style points being taken away from insulting the opponent rather than presenting evidence and facts. Most importantly- when I’m doing Lawyer things and Serious Focused about it, not the humdrum of filling out paperwork, but squared up for a fight or preparing for one… that’s when I tend to get most rhythmic. Which is fancy for saying "I rhyme when I'm fighting with words". All Trials have some component of music present, originally to invoke the gods, now as part of the tradition. Vocal coaching is just part of the lawyer life, I guess.

I have a pretty good singing voice- I'm not the best in my family, I'm just the most practiced. It seems like the best, but- I dunno, it's the difference between technique and talent. The best Lawyers have both, but one or the other will take you quite far.

 

The person I tend to clash words with most often is  [ Siusan “Sue” Yiu. ](http://img07.deviantart.net/5b72/i/2013/032/7/0/juri_han_by_kevinraganit-d5ti80c.jpg) She’s basically one of the best Prosecutors in the World. (Her adoptive mother, Sinestra Faust, says she’s the best prosecutor, but I know it’s actually Sue because Sinestra isn’t my rival, Sue is. Faust scares the crap out of both of us, though, so maybe it’s one of those passing the torch things? Darla Faust is much nicer on an intrapersonal level, if no less frightening to face in Court.) 

I’m Sue Yiu’s Rival; meaning I’m the best Defense. Together, we pursue nothing less than the Truth- at least, inside the Court we do. Outside the Court, it’s Aster and myself and everyone knows it, including the police and the judiciary.

 

“It was nice of the Judge to let me tag along with you.” said Aster.

“He gets weird and antsy waiting for conclusive evidence.” I said.

“Yeah, speaking of- what, exactly, are we looking for?” said Aster.

“Anything that proves you didn’t murder Crunchy Rollo. Some clothing, some blood- any loose thread that we can pull on; if we can pull on it hard enough, Inspector Noopwright’s whole story will start to unravel.” I said.

“Clothing, blood- got it.” he said.

“A drop of blood could blow this wide open-” I sang, snooping around the roof.

“A bit of cloth could be what we need-” he sang, digging through piled up leaves and detritus.

“-a pair of prints could change the whole trial-” I sang, looking in the vents.

“-a single thread will let us proceed!” he sang, walking around the roof looking for different angles. Something clacked against Aster’s boot.

 

“Hey, Tilly! I found a-  [ channeling staff…? ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/04/0b/f2/040bf2d79fd67e912e3a2e74c709044f.png%5D) ” said Aster.

“A couple cracks could make a big difference-” I sang, rubbing my neck.

“A minor flaw could solve the whole case-” he sang, cringing.

“A single thread could be our undoing-” we sang, looking at each other with worry. Aster held the Channeling Staff loosely in his hands.

“ **THE BOTH OF YOU ARE A DISGRACE.** I’ll take that!” sang Ms. Naga, swiping the staff from Aster.

“Hey!” said Aster.

“That’s our evidence!” I said.

“That you found on  **MY ROOF** .” growled Ms. Naga.

“Give it back!” I said.

“This will make a great gift for my Cutie-Yiu!” cooed Ms. Naga. I knew alraune were obsessive but holy shit.

“Ew.” said Aster, grossed out.

 

“Nothing slips past [ Ms. Whinedy Naga ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/54/7b/e5/547be53fbc26562fcd5f68b4f8e66390.jpg) ! Nothing escapes my lovely eyes! That’s right- you gotta be quick to beat the Naga! Now,  **GET OFF OF MY ROOF** and say goodbye!” cackled Ms. Naga, her leaves and branches rasping. Pollen went everywhere.

“She is literally the worst person.” I said, after sneezing.

“I need to take a bath now...” growled Aster.

“Me too.” I sighed, sneezing again.

 

And then we left.

There are really nice public baths all over the city, so we stopped at one and scrubbed down, used the nice service to have our clothing cleaned. And then we had to go to court with no new evidence in our possession. Things were starting to get just a little bit tense. Aster couldn’t stop shaking.

 

 

CLACK CLACK went the gavel.

 

“The Court is back in session for the Trial of Aster Mistburrow for the Murder of Crunchy Rollo. I trust we will not have an encore of yesterday’s squabbling.” said the Judge.

“The Prosecution calls the hospital’s chief security guard- Ms. Whinedy Naga...” said Yiu, her eye clamped shut with resignation. Her hand was almost digging into her eyepatch.

“Thank you, Cutie-Yiu. You look delicious today.” said Ms. Naga.

“OBJECTION! The witness is being S-S-S-SUPER gross.” I trilled.

“Sustained.” said the Judge, cringing.

“Ms. Naga-” said Yiu.

“Call me ‘Whindey’.” said Ms. Naga, cutesy waving at Yiu. Super gross.

“ **-Ms. Naga.** Were you working the night that Crunchy Rollo was murdered?” said Yiu through slightly gritted teeth.

“I was.” said Ms. Naga.

“-and did you go to the roof between 11 pm and midnight?” said Yiu.

“I did!” said Ms. Naga.

“-and can you describe the things you witnessed there?” said Yiu.

“I CAN!” said Ms. Naga, gasping like she just- so, so gross.

 

We all waited for her to start. She kept grinning at Yiu like she’d done something great. Literally, the worst person I’ve ever met.

 

“ **Now-** would be a good time to describe the things you witnessed there…?” said Yiu, her hand gesturing in a ‘get on with it’ fashion.

“Well, there were two people up there- One in a hospital volunteer uniform and one in a long white robe.” said Ms. Naga, glaring at Aster.

 

Aster shuddered because Ms. Naga has a glare like a snake and no mistake.

 

“-and what were they doing?” said Yiu.

“The white one was in the midst of some sort of DEMONIC RITUAL!” said Ms. Naga.

 

The Judge gasped and clapped his hands to his cheeks. Which. Dramatic, much?

 

“Um- it’s actually called ‘Spirit Channeling’? It’s usually pretty harmless- you know… except for one or two cases of murder-” said Aster. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Ms. Naga, are you saying the culprit had channeled a spirit?” said Yiu.

“No- but they were trying to!” said Ms. Naga.

“Um- actually, for the Court record, Spirit Channelling comes to me very easily. I- I don’t even have to try, really. I could honestly channel anyone in this room right now- I mean, if you were dead I could. But you’re not, so...” said Aster.

“I wish I was dead...” I hummed, pressing a hand over my eyes.

“So what did you do next, Ms. Naga?” said Yiu.

“I did the first thing I could think of-” said Ms. Naga.

“A sleazy jazz routine?” I snarked.

“I told them to  **GET OFF MY ROOF** !” growled Ms. Naga.

“Are we getting to the part of the testimony where a murder occurs?” said the Judge.

“I was  **GETTING** to that! -As I shouted, the necromancer charged forward and knocked the victim over the edge and off the roof!” said Ms. Naga. Necromancer isn’t quite the pejorative term for what Aster does, but it’s close. Aster’s expression is… tense.

“Were you able to apprehend the culprit?” said Yiu.

“Sorry Cutie-Yiu; I’m only stable on my feet at a walking pace. I’ve already broken too many bones trying to chase people down to want to try again.” said Ms. Naga.

“I thought nothing gets past Ms. Whindey Naga?” I said, mildly (mockingly).

 

Ms. Naga glared at me, sneering.

 

“So the killer escaped.” said Yiu.

“Not entirely. I’m not good on a long chase, but I can manage a short sprint. This time, I managed to tear away a part of the murderer’s costume! -before my poor balance got the best of me, anyway.” said Ms. Naga.

“My culture is not a costume!” huffed Aster.

“Please show us this piece of evidence.” said the Judge.

“Voila!” said Ms. Naga, holding the Channeling Staff high for all to see.

“WHAT!?” screeched Aster.

“OBJECTION! We found that Staff first, Your Honor!” I said.

“ **ON MY ROOF WHERE I LEFT IT!** ” said Ms. Naga.

“She is literally- literally- the worst.” hissed Aster.

“It seems the defendant and the killer use matching implements. Do you suppose they order from the same weaponer?” said Yiu.

“This is L-L-LUDICROUS! If that was Aster’s Channeling Staff, it wouldn’t be in his hands right now!” I trilled and growled.

“Not so fast, Ms. Portgas. The defendant has taken great pains to remind us that he’s a Spirit Channeler. It’s likely he owns spares.” said Yiu.

“That’s true! And we only saw him from behind upon his return in yesterday’s security footage… Meaning it could have been missing...” said the Judge.

“Witness! Hold that Channeling Staff with one hand, open on the grip wrappings, in front of you; please!” I said. I have a hunch.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Cottonball!” said Ms. Naga, while also doing as I asked of her. Perks of being a Trial Lawyer.

 

As she held the Channeling Staff out in front of her, flat handed, it tilted towards the rounded end before falling from her hands, clattering on the floor. There were gasps across the Court.

Yiu glared over her smirk. We both love a good fight, and I just scored a hit.

 

“It’s not balanced!?” said the Judge.

“Exactly! For the Court Record- all true Channeling Staffs are balanced to remain level when held in the manner Ms. Naga did, and to remain upright when left freestanding on their tips. That Channeling Staff... IS A F-F-FAKE!” I trilled, triumphant.

“Why would the killer create a fake Channeling Staff?” said the Judge.

“Probably to frame Mr. Mistburrow for murder- and the person who presented that Channeling Staff in Court as evidence is none other than- MS. WHINEDY NAGA!” I said, smacking my fist to the Defense desk before pointing directly at Ms. Naga.

“WHAT?!?!?” screeched Ms. Naga.

“As head of security, Ms. Naga had access to the entire building at any time-” I said.

“Including surveillance footage of the victim’s movements and other security guard’s locations.” said the Judge thoughtfully.

“-and she would also know that the Blue Cutie on the roof was secretly a security camera- which might be why it went missing in the first place.” I said.

“You impudent buffoon! Why would I murder a volunteer at my own hospital?” said Ms. Naga.

“Maybe to keep him Off Your Roof.” I said.

 

Yiu started clapping. Shit. If Sue Yiu is clapping, you know you done fucked it up.

 

“Creative as always, Portgas. But I have one more question for Ms. Naga.” said Yiu.

“-and what’s that?” I said, bracing myself.

“When you called the police, Miss… whose phone did you use?” said Yiu.

“Mine!” said Ms. Naga.

“You own a personal phone snail or crab?” I said.

“No! The hospital issued one to me for emergencies.” said Ms. Naga.

 

Thought so. Most people use the public phone system if they’re gonna make any kind of calls; it’s mostly rich people, businesses, and Offices of the Government that really want or need their own dedicated phonebeast.

 

“Hmph. I thought as much.” said Yiu.

“What are you getting at, Ms. Yiu?” said the Judge.

“Every hospital issued mobile phone is equipped with tracking technology that logs and reports wherever it goes from the moment it is turned on.” said Yiu.

“It does WHAT?!” hissed Ms. Naga.

“That’s not good...” I said, leaning forward and bracing my arms on the Defence desk.

“Using a list of coordinates retrieved from the witness’ phone, and the hospital’s floorplan, I’ve created a time map. It retraces every path the witness’ phone took during the night of the murder.” said Yiu.

“Definitely not good...” I said, leaning even more on the desk.

“Let’s see this map.” said the Judge.

 

There’s a… I won’t call it a light board, but it’s certainly made of mostly light. We use it to present evidence to the court (I ordered a portable version a while back, but it hasn’t come in the mail yet). Yiu gestures to the map.

 

“Now, let us confirm- Ms. Naga. Did you have your phone with you at all times during the night of the Murder?” said Yiu.

“Yes, I did!” said Ms. Naga.

“Therefore, this dot- which is a visual representation of the witness’ phone- is really Ms. Naga. She arrived as usual for her shift and spent most of the evening in her security office. Until we reach 11 pm.” said Yiu.

 

The dot representing Ms. Naga began to move.

 

“Where’s she going?” said the Judge.

“Let’s watch.” said Yiu.

 

Ms. Naga’s dot moved towards the stairs.

 

“She’s going to the roof.” I said.

“As she testified; but what happens next is key to her testimony.” said Yiu.

 

We watch the dot go onto the roof- and then- SHIT!

 

“And then- Ms. Naga pursues the killer, just as she claimed.” said Yiu.

“OBJECTION! She, uh, could have removed the phone before the attack.” I say, rubbing my hands against the side of my thighs. It’s an obvious nervous gesture but dammit, I’ve got to try.

“Ms. Portgas… You don’t go down quietly, do you?” said Yiu, crushing her evidence report in her hands.

 

I winced and looked away, then right back at her because- no, I don’t.

 

“There’s an old saying that a Lily Will Never Lie- but perhaps this would have gone better for you, Ms. Portgas, if you’d even bothered to try. Now you’ve run out of chances, and this Trial’s taken too long, so let’s end this... All the evidence was here all along! Portgas is Wrong!” said Yiu, before beginning to sing.

“Well, Ms. Portgas?” said the Judge.

“The witness could have… shot the victim?” I said, weakly.

“I don’t think so.” said the Judge.

“All of your logic is faulty. Your plans are all a disgrace. All of your traps are outdated. Your tricks blow up in your face! Though it’s sad to break the Illusion, it’s true, I Knew all along… You cannot hope to win this. (Is it cruel of me to say it in song?) Portgas is Wrong!” sang Yiu.

“She- she’s just jealous of your hair...” mumbled Aster.

“Forgive my lack of tact, but Portgas knows no more than jack- because she’s a wacky quack, exactly that, a backwoods hack! In fact, in spite of what’s been said, in light of Portgas’ quite empty head, Ms. Portgas is Wrong.” sang Yiu.

“Ease up, Ms. Yiu. What are we here for?” I hummed.

“Now that you’ve started rethinking and watching your argument choke- you see now you’re in trouble, so glad that you’ve finally woke! Bluffs are just a distraction and your case is clearly not strong, so let’s end this- and send Mr. Mistburrow back where he belongs! Portgas is Wrong! Portgas is Wrong! Portgas is Wro~ng!” sang Yiu.

“Wow. That was actually pretty catchy.” mumbled Aster.

“Ms. Naga’s telling the truth; I can’t find any reasonable way that she could have committed this crime.” I hummed.

“Well, Ms. Portgas, do you have anything else you’d like to say?” said the Judge.

“If Aster didn’t kill Crunchy- and neither did Whindey Naga-  **THEN THE VICTIM’S NOT ACTUALLY D-D-D-DEAD!** ” I trilled, triumphant, fist out in a perfect punch. Oh god what the hell did I just say.

 

If Yiu’s eye gets any wider, it’s going to fall out of her head.

 

**“WHAAAAAAT!?!?”** shrieks Yiu, grabbing onto the desk for support.

 

Ms. Naga started laughing uncontrollably.

 

“Are you INSANE?” said the Judge, flabbergasted.

“Jury’s still out...” I said, shrugging.

“I will not have my court made a mockery while you turn this trial into a sideshow!” said the Judge.

“Your Honor, with all due respect, Ms. Portgas… may not be wrong.” said Yiu.

“WHAT!?” said the Judge.

“The autopsy report was quite poorly worded. Ordering a detailed follow up would at least be a reasonable formality.” said Yiu.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Has this whole courthouse gone mad?” said the Judge.

“Please, Your Honor.” I said.

“One more day- and an expanded autopsy. Nothing more.” said the Judge.

 

BANG went the gavel.

 

“ **COURT ADJOURNED!** Not you two. You stay right where you are. You must think me a fool to not catch on to what you’re doing; but if there’s one thing I won’t tolerate, it’s the perversion of True Blind Justice in my court. It’s quite clear that the the two of you have been colluding since the start of this Trial.” said the Judge.

“No, Your Honor, it’s not-” I said.

“Which is why, Ms. Portgas, your friend will not be joining us tomorrow.” said the Judge.

“You’re removing me from the case, Your Honor?” said Yiu, scrunching her hair back through her fingers.

“-And replacing you with a prosecutor truly fervid for a verdict.” said the Judge, before gesturing to a bailiff.

“Your Honor, you’re not going to find anyone half as passionate as Sue- YAAAAAAAAAAIEEEE!” I said, before throwing myself backwards. The heavy blade of a guan dao neatly misses me, but slices my desk into uneven pieces.

“Oh no.” said Yiu, staring at the person who’d just entered the Court. Her eyepatch fluttered to the floor in a flurry of sad, dainty, satin and leather pieces.

“Did you miss me, dearie?” says  [ Ms. Faust ](http://www.fightersgeneration.com/np6/char2/cviper-mvc3.jpg) , taking a graceful, mocking, bow. Her glasses gleam sharply in the light; her suit could be made of pure darkness.

 

Hell's bells, I'm fucked.

 

 

**DAY 3 (24 HOURS REMAIN)**

 

 

All the key people in a Trial Court can be identified by their badges. Court employees and paralegals and judges have an eight-corner mirror with… how did it go… court employees have the  [ sheaf and sickle  ](https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/z/sheaf-wheat-sickle-27063041.jpg) rimmed in silver; judges have  [ sword and scythe ](http://icons.iconarchive.com/icons/uiconstock/flat-halloween/256/Halloween-Scythe-Sword-icon.png) rimmed in gold; and paralegals have either the sunflower or the chrysanthemum inside the mirror. It depends on if they’re working with the defense or prosecution.

 

Prosecutors have the most  [ symbolically complex ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/124/1/7035291/il_570xN.1036230447_6d2j.jpg) badge; they don't actually have a quickly recognizable symbol of their own, aside from the Badge itself. It’s got white chrysanthemum petals made of mother of pearl (but more usually bone or horn or ivory) and golden leaves (usually gilt) and at it’s center is a red cabochon said to represent the morning sun and the blood spilt in justice’s name because Skua believes heartily in Capital Punishment, which is the one where they kill you for crimes committed, usually by beheading. It’s supposed to be a ruby, but usually it’s just glass. Sinestra Faust has a solid gold Prosecutor's Badge with mother of pearl inlay and a ruby center because she’s old and very, very proper.

I admire her fiercely and am also flatly terrified of her.

 

The design dates back to 950, and it supposedly means “Autumn frost, Scorching sunlight”, an allusion to climate extremes which evokes the harshness of punishment and the constancy of principles expected from the Star Sea’s prosecutors. That those who enforce, create, and interpret the Law wear emblems with subtle (and unsubtle) Royal connections is unsurprising. Under the Elphame Constitution both judges and prosecutors served the throne, and those above a certain rank are still among the rare category of public servants whose appointments are certified directly by the Archigos, or really, Queen. Interesting side note- All Prosecutors have leave to work on the Defense’s side of the court, but rarely exercise this privilege.

 

 

So after the second day of the Trial, I went to my favorite Cafe and went through a whole bottle of Black Tonic. They cut you off after three, here; I don’t get drunk until five, myself. I was doing shots of my second bottle.

 

“Not dead. Not dead!? STUPID! What am I doing?” I growled, slugging another shot of high-power coffee before sighing. Of all my family, it’s me and Mom who have the highest tolerance for caffeine. As in, I can drink ten full bottles of Black Tonic without dying. I’ll be drunk as hell, but I won’t die. I checked my  [ pocket watch ](http://image.dhgate.com/0x0/f2/albu/g1/M01/58/B1/rBVaGFYl2SuAMH-2AAlqFq72OtA095.jpg) . 

 

“One hour until the end of my career!” I sighed.

“Ooooooh, if it isn’t Tigerlily, Brave and True- that’s a lot of coffee right before a Trial...?” said Whately Paign.

“Let me die in peace, Whately.” I said.

“Hahahaha! Losing a case sucks, doesn’t it?” sneered Paign.

“You’d know that best...” I sneered back.

“Better than most! And I also know a loser when I see one. Welcome to my world, Portgas!” sniggered Paign, before clapping me on the back. I flexed my shoulders when his hand hit me, and he winced.

 

I don’t appreciate being talked to like that, or touched like that, and he knows it.

 

“Sorry.” said Paign.

“Don’t do it again.” I said.

“Right. But, you know- you think you’re different; you do nothing but win, but I know you’re really a sham. You think you’ve got a special aura within you, but now you’ve found out it’s a scam! You think you’re still the sharpest tool in the box, and believe me I did too- but now I’m a loser, and so are you!” said Paign, starting to sing in a coffee induced haze.

“Oh, hey! Look at the time! It’s half past 'shut the hell up you medieval gnome!' P. M.” I hissed at him, waving my pocket watch at him.

 

Whatley cackled.

 

“Oh- for years you still believed that no one could touch you, but then you got poked in the eye. The Brave Defense becomes a chump and a fool who continues to doubt and deny. She’s all washed up and all her luck has run out, she’s a has been through and through- because she’s a loser!” sang Paign.

“-and so are you!” I sang, before taking another shot of coffee.

“Ahahaha! I’ll drink to that! You’re just a part a part of the trend-” sang Paign.

 

I groaned and smushed my face into the bartop.

 

“-and for a loser, losing don’t end! No one to turn to! Everyone spurns you! Until you’ve no friends!” sang Paign.

“Not all losers-” I hummed.

“But just for fun let’s both pretend- You were a lawyer full of talent and promise, but you finally choked and bit the dust. And let’s assume that you once were valiant and honest, but your career was still a bust! You beat me every time we meet in court, yet my wildest dreams still came true- although I’m a loser-” sang Paign, before breathing in long and sharp through his nose.

“That’s not an eye-” I hummed.

“-Now, so are you.” hissed Paign.

“I know what to do.” I gasped.

 

I leapt from my seat.

 

“That’s it! In order to win this case-” I said.

 

Whatley Paign started cackling again.

 

“I have to THINK like a LOSER! I gotta call Sue...” I said, before running for the cafe doors. There was just enough time for me to check the hospital morgue and machinist shop and catch the train to downtown if I hurried. “Thanks for the help, Whately!” I called back to him, before sliding to a stop and slapping a stack of dola on the bar.

“Ah- uh- yeah, anything for a pal!” he said.

“For my tab and his, okay?” I said to the barista, before taking off again.

 

Whately seemed shocked that I would be so nice to him.

Hm. I’ve not treated him all that well, huh.

 

 

I’ve reconstructed this next bit based on video records and the Court Record. Excepting for the part which I was actually there for, which- well, I was actually there for.

Aster was worried. I still hadn’t appeared for his defence.

 

“Of all the days to be late, Tilly, couldn’t you pick a day when I’m not going to be executed?” hissed Aster, eyeing the bailiff with the Axe warily.

 

BANG-BANG-BANG went the gavel.

 

“I missed swimming for this- The Trial of Aster Mistburrow for the Murder of Crunchy Rollo will come to order for the last time! Is the Prosecution ready?” said the Judge.

“Oh yes dearie, let’s get started!” said Ms. Faust.

“Is the Defense ready?” said the Judge.

“Um. Not exactly?” said Aster.

“The Defense is ready, Your Honor.” said Sue Yiu.

 

The Court gasped. Ms. Faust sneered.

 

“Ms. Yiu, I seem to recall removing you as Prosecutor of this Case.” said the Judge.

“Yes. And the  **_Defense_ ** is ready, Your Honor.” said Yiu.

“I don’t suppose Ms. Portgas will be joining us?” said the Judge.

“Portgas is full of surprises, Your Honor.” said Yiu.

“She’s not the only one.” hummed Aster.

“Very well. Ms. Faust, you may call your first- YEEEEEK!” said the Judge, ducking a terrifying slash of the guan dao blade.

“Dearie, I know quite well how a trial works.” said Ms. Faust, both of her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her glasses shined bright white.

 

“Okay. I’ll just be over here then.” said the Judge… from underneath his bench.

“You! I call Aster Mistburrow to the stand.” said Faust, white lens glass blazing with prosecutorial fury.

 

Aster gulped.

 

“Um. Hi. I’m Aster, and I like flatbread-” said Aster, shivering.

“Witness! Tell us what you did the night Crunchy Rollo was murdered!” said Faust.

“O-okay, well, um, I was staying at the hospital overnight and I was really tired so I went to bed early which I, like, never do, because like, normally I stay up really late and I eat a snack and I listen to some musical theatre like, I’ve been relistening to Der Ring des Nibelungen and like, that’s my favorite way to spend three days leisure, and I was gonna listen to Carmen but I’m not sure I’m really interested in love stories from the proletariat- WOAH!” said Aster, ducking a slash.

“I asked for facts, dearie. If I wanted your opinions, I’d have asked for those instead.” said Faust.

“You will refrain from intimidating my client, Ms. Faust. He’s merely being thorough.” said Yiu.

“Oh, Dearie. I wondered how long it would take you to say something foolish.” said Faust.

“Well, you didn’t take long yourself. You never do.” said Yiu.

“You’d be wise to remain silent and accept my mercy, Dearie.” said Faust.

“Mercy? Raising your blade against an old man; frightening children- this is your mercy?” said Yiu.

“I can do worse.” said Faust.

 

Sue Yiu’s normally covered eye began to blaze magenta.

 

“There's no chance to stall; there’s no time to spare; because we need a guilty verdict and the guilty one’s there! He’s got a modus operandi and no alibi; so let’s end this case, dearies, no more nonsense and lies! My dearest dears, overcome your fears: accept the shame of your defeat. This case is quickly burning before your very eyes! Dearie- I’ve cut you to size.” sang Faust.

“You have yet to prove any guilt whatsoever!” snarled Yiu.

“Dearie, I don’t have to! He’ll be proven guilty in less than an hour.” said Faust.

“But it’s only twelve thirty (PM)- GYAAAAAAAH!” said the Judge, ducking another slash.

“You think Portgas will save you? Dearie, don’t be naive! Why else would she recruit you and then pack up and leave? She’s saddled you with failure and then bid you goodbye. She’s abandoned you to defend walls of nonsense and lies! My dearest dear, abandon your fear; that you cannot win this should be abundantly clear! This case is quickly falling to pieces, it’s true- and soon, so will you.” sang Faust.

“Great voice! Still a crappy person.” said Aster.

“Thank you, dearie. Duck.” said Faust.

“EEEP!” said Aster, ducking a flurry of slashes. Plaster fell everywhere.

“Your Honor, the Defense calls the autopsy coordinator to the stand.” said Yiu.

“Not until Ms. Faust has finished with the current witness- YOWZA!” said the Judge, dodging a slash.

“Dearie, I would have said if I wasn’t finished with the witness.” said Faust.

“If you insist.” said the Judge, carefully applying a sticking bandage with shaking hands because he didn’t dodge quite fast enough.

 

“Witness, state your name and occupation for the Court.” said Yiu.

“I am… Dr. Brite Hotti. My job is to… examine things.” said Dr. Hotti, grinning carefully. (Considering he was later fired for not having the proper credentials, his testimony here makes a lot more sense, logically speaking.)

“Speaking of which, we still haven’t received that updated autopsy report from you.” said Yiu.

“I delivered… the report… to Officer Scarper… two hours ago.” said Dr. Hotti.

“Then where the hell is she?” said the Judge.

“Officer Scarper is habitually late to Court, due to becoming habitually lost along the way. Honest, though, one of the most honest Officers you’ll ever meet.” said Yiu, scrunching her hair back from her face, magenta eye blazing.

“Dear oh dear.” said Faust, polishing her glasses to cover her amusement.

“Can you not? That would be cool...” hummed Aster.

“Dr. Hotti, please describe what you noticed while examining the victim.” said Yiu.

“The victim was… not alive… ” said Dr. Hotti.

“We assumed that. More detail, please.” said Yiu.

“The victim is… still not alive… ” said Dr. Hotti.

“No, that’s not really helpful either.” said Yiu, sighing.

“How much longer do you plan to subject us to this, Ms. Yiu?” said the Judge.

“Just a bit longer, Your Honor. Have you done any sort of blood work on the victim, Dr. Hotti?” said Yiu.

“The victim had… no pulse.” said Dr. Hotti.

“YES! That is indicative of being dead!” said Yiu, frustrated magenta light flaring from her eye.

“Dear oh dear.” hummed Faust.

“Can you at least describe the victim’s injuries?” said Yiu.

“They had… many fractures…” said Dr. Hotti.

“How many?” said Yiu, waving her hand in a ‘get on with it’ way.

“...between three… and twenty-seven…” said Dr. Hotti.

“...What?” said Yiu, stunned.

“... I lost count...” whispered Dr. Hotti.

“He’s a bit dim, isn’t he.” hummed Aster.

“Well this has been… enlightening. Thank you for your time, Dr. Hotti. ” said the Judge.

“Anytime.” said Dr. Hotti, before scampering off, cackling.

“Your Honor, remarkably enough, I wasn’t actually finished-” said Yiu.

“Ms. Yiu, you are very close to being finished! Seconds away, in fact.” said the Judge.

“Your Honor, please!” said Yiu, magenta eye blazing.

“If there are no more interruptions, then I the Judge of this court, hereby find Mr. Aster Mistburrow-” said the Judge.

“ **I’d like to call another witness!** ” shouted Aster.

“WHAT!?” shouted the Judge.

“I- I, um- I have another witness that I’d like to call for testimony, Your Honor.” said Aster, shaking in his robes.

“You’ve had three days, Mr. Mistburrow. The Trial is over.” said the Judge.

“Well… Listen! I didn’t want to have to do this, but- if you don’t let me call that witness to the stand, I’ll- I-  **I’M GONNA CHANNEL YOUR SPIRIT!”** snarled Aster.

 

The Judge dropped his gavel and gasped. So did most of the Court.

 

“If I do is up to you. I mean- the choice is yours, Your Honor.” growled Aster. As a side note: Aster Mistburrow ranks on the baby rabbit end of the scary wild animal scale of scary wild animals. He’s about as threatening as a kitten in a tissue box. Which makes it all the more astonishing how effective he is when he does decide to be threatening.

“Two minutes. One witness. Don’t dissapoint me!” said the Judge, hands shaking.

 

 

The reason the two sides of the Court have solid desks is so that the attorney and client can take cover behind them if needed. The Court records everything said in it, but things said while ‘In Cover’ behind the desks is not made part of the public Court Record until after the Trial’s sentence.

 

“So. Who did Tilly have left to call?” said Aster, crouching behind the Defence Desk.

“No one! Everyone’s already testified! Everyone except- well, except for this person-” said Yiu, also crouching behind the Desk.

“Give me that.” said Aster, snatching the witness list from her.

 

“The Defense, uh- wishes to call, um-” said Aster, standing tall behind the Desk.

“OOOOGH!” said… someone.

“That- that OOOGHing person!” said Aster.

“Ooooogh!” said  [ The Beard ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/06/9b/ac/069bac1a46b520cb08aa7bf430007177.jpg) .

“Did- did you just call some kind of sasquatch to the stand?” said Yiu, also standing behind the Desk.

“I have no idea what I just did.” said Aster, pulling his hood down over his eyes.

“Oogh!” said The Beard.

“Daun… Beard-” said Yiu, shrugging.

“Oogh!” said The Beard.

“Were you present at the hospital the night Crunchy Rollo was murdered?” said Yiu.

“OOOGH-HOOGH!” said The Beard.

“Was that a yes or a no?” hissed Yiu.

“It sounded like “OOOGH-HOOGH!” to me.” hissed Aster.

“OBJECTION! This isn’t a credible testimony, it’s a medical oddity making useless hooting noises!” said Faust.

“OOOGH!” said The Beard, crossing their arms.

“Overruled! We’ve had stranger witnesses in this court- the parrot comes to mind; besides, he reminds me of my brother.” said the Judge, gently stroking his beard.

“Ooogh!” said The Beard, shooting the Judge a quick thumbs up.

“Can you describe what you saw or heard during the murder?” said Yiu.

“Ooogh… ooogh!” said The Beard, holding up the index finger of each hand.

“Two people were on the roof..?” said the Judge.

“-and were they shouting? Arguing?” said Yiu.

“OOGH-OOOGH-OGH-OOOOGH-OOOGH~!” sang The Beard.

“They were- singing?” said the Judge.

“So the killer was singing?” said Yiu.

“OOGH-OOOGH.” said The Beard, shaking their head.

“The- victim was singing?” said Yiu.

“OOOGH-HOOGH!” said The Beard, nodding.

“Until he was pushed off the roof.” said the Judge.

“OOOGH-OOOGH.” said The Beard, shaking their head.

“...After, he was pushed off the roof?” said the Judge.

“OOOGH-HOOGH!” said The Beard, nodding.

 

The Judge scratched his head in confusion.

 

 

“Witness, do you think you could repeat the song you heard the victim singing as they fell?” said Yiu.

“ [ OOGH-OOGH-OOOGH; OOOGH-OGH-OGH, OOGH OOOGH-OOGH-OOGH- ](https://youtu.be/f6oc1Eg3qmE) ” sang The Beard. (It was ME!ME!ME!, the theme of Blue Cutie, in the key of OOOGH.)

 

Blue Cutie is the work title given to the Automata that work as mascots and surveillance officers in the Police; they’re all Police Officers, but they tend to be used and optimized for public relations work, generally in the Red Light Districts. Because of the nature of their job, their Hearts are hardened to all kinds of damage, and their  [ Forms ](http://img11.deviantart.net/a31a/i/2015/326/c/7/mememe__male_version_by_fries_n_patty-d9hp8i7.png) are more akin to Uniform. Their Uniform is intended to put people who may be approached by the Automatic Police Officer at ease; they don’t look terribly threatening (more enticing, really) except for the eyes. Skuan technology still hasn’t quite managed to make an eye that looks and works like an eye. We can do everything else- skin, textures, hair, voices- but not eyes. Which is part of why Yiu usually has hers covered with an eyepatch; it freaks people out to look at it, and she's actually much nicer than she seems.

 

Automata can legally work as Blue Cuties for about thirty years consecutively before they have to rotate into a different kind of Office work or out of government entirely. Considering that Automata only die when they’re killed (the extreme circumstances of which weren’t present on the night in question), a fall from several stories up isn’t enough to manage that.

 

“NO!” screeched Faust.

“Stings, doesn’t it?” sniggered Yiu.

“I’m still not off the hook, Sue-” huffed Aster.

“-oh yes you are, considering the fact that Crunchy Rollo was never the victim of this Murder! The victim was the Blue Cutie!” said Yiu, snapping a quick kick into the air.

“HOLD IT! Anybody could have sang that song dearie. Honestly, we could have thrown the hairy witness off the building and obtained the same amount of evidence.” said Faust.

“OOOGH!” said The Beard, affronted.

“Then show me where the Blue Cutie security officer went after disappearing the night of the murder!” said Yiu, slamming both her fists into the desk. The desk let out an ominous creak.

 

Ms. Faust glared.

 

“Don’t slow your Rollo! Give me Crunchy’s broken bones or bent appendages! Where are his cuts? Tell me where he’s bleeding, or are you conceding this?” sang Yiu.

“OBJECTION! Whinedy Naga testified that she saw Crunchy Rollo on the roof that night! It’s my witness against yours!” said Faust.

“HOLD IT! The murder took place at night when it would be hardest to see. My witness used sound to identify the victim- NOT VISION!” said Yiu, foot striking the air.

“Don’t look so smug! Don’t forget your client still lacks a solid alibi-” sang Faust.

“OBJECTION! Aster was drugged from his medication-” sang Yiu.

“That would explain why I-” sang Aster.

“HOLD IT! I see no evidence that anybody was drugged that night!” said Faust.

“Few doctors would check a patient into a hospital overnight for chronic sleepwalking without prescribing a dosage of something- but if you’d like to wait for Dr. Hotti’s professional opinion-” said Yiu, her magenta eye closing.

“No more waiting! The trial ends today!” said the Judge as the door slammed open.

 

“OFFICER SCARPER REPORTING!” shouted Officer Scarper.

“What? Did you stop for tacos?” said the Judge.

“YES, I DID, AND ALSO FOR AN AUTOPSY REPORT.” said Officer Scarper.

“It all comes down to this moment-” sang Yiu.

“One more twist-” sang the Judge.

“I won’t be beaten by you dearie-” sang Faust.

“-and we’ve put it all on the line-” sang Yiu.

“-one last kink-” sang the Judge.

“You think that you’re oh so hip and cool-” sang Faust.

“-So now let’s see if we’ve blown it.” sang Yiu.

“This is it.” sang the Judge.

“-but now it’s time for you to see-” sang Faust.

“Time to win this case or resign!” sang Yiu.

“I need a drink.” sang the Judge.

“-that you cannot beat me!” sang Faust.

“PREPARE FOR A GRUESOME PHOTOGRAPH OF THE CORPSE!” said Officer Scarper.

 

It was a picture of a banged up Blue Cutie (femme), not a (legally) biotic person at all.

 

“NOOOOOOO!” screamed Faust, half of her body becoming covered in bloody slashes.

“This trial is for a murder that doesn’t exist!” said Yiu, stomping an imprint of her foot into the desk.

“OBJECTION! It could easily be a double-murder! Crunchy Rollo is still missing!” said Faust.

“We no longer have proof that Crunchy Rollo was even on the roof of the hospital on the night in question!” said Yiu.

 

Here’s where I came in with the Cutie Blue who fell, and Crunchy Rollo.

 

“HOLD IT! We do have evidence that Crunchy Rollo was on the roof, actually; we also have evidence that the Cutie Blue that fell did not die.” I said.

“Tilly!?” said Aster.

“Rollo-!” said Faust.

“Ahahahaha, yeah!” said Yiu.

“Hi...” said  [ Crunchy Rollo ](http://www.fightersgeneration.com/np8/game/3so/yun-3so.jpg) .

 

The Cutie Blue (femme) in the wheelchair and neck brace merely waved, her other hand resting on the blanket that covered her legs.

 

 

“Ms. Portgas; you’re just in time for the fireworks.” said the Judge.

 

Ms. Faust let out an inarticulate screech of fury as the other half of her body was covered in bleeding slashes.

 

“I can see that.” I said.

 

“With your permission, Your Honor, I would like to call Mr. Rollo to the stand.” growled Yiu.

“I’d like to call him a lot of things...” growled the Judge.

“Uh. Chairete, everybody- you’re all looking great.” said Rollo, flashing a crooked grin and a double thumbs up.

“ **Talk. Now.** ” said Yiu, magenta eye blazing.

“Right! Um, so… I might have accidentally faked my own death and framed Aster for murder...” said Rollo, wincing.

“ACCIDENTALLY!?” yelled Aster.

“I never meant to cause any problems! Aw, you guys are all mad at me now!” whined Rollo.

“Keep talking or I’ll thrash you myself, never mind what my Mother will do.” growled Yiu, magenta eye blazing.

 

Crunchy ducked under a slash from Ms. Faust, her glasses blazing white.

 

“All right! Ease up! So, I started volunteering at the hospital a few weeks ago-” said Rollo.

“That was pretty nice of you!” said Aster.

“Yeah! And the work experience was really cool! But I wasn’t really of much use in the morgue, so I thought if I learned a new skill, I could help more.” said Rollo.

“Tell me he didn’t.” said Yiu.

“So-! I decided to take up Spirit Channelling.” said Rollo.

“He did.” I said.

“I made my own robe and everything! I even crafted my own Channeling Staff! Has anyone seen it, by the way?” said Rollo.

“We noticed.” said the Judge.

“Dearie, there’s a reason such things are left to professionals.” said Ms. Faust, blood staining her dress.

“I suppose you decided to try some Spirit Channeling up on the hospital roof..?” said Yiu.

“Heck Yeah! Challenge is only a matter of perspectives!” said Rollo.

“I’m supposing because that is a profoundly  **_stupid_ ** idea.” snarled Yiu.

“Oh.” said Rollo, wincing.

“Forgive me, but how does the Blue Cutie fit into any of this?” said the Judge.

 

Ms. Faust buried her guan dao into the Prosecutor’s desk, a fine spray of blood punctuating her movements.

 

“Dearie, don’t you see? This dear,  **stupid,** boy changed his clothes on the roof and put his uniform on the Blue Cutie- or, more likely, trysted with the Blue Cutie before attempting his miserable acquisition of skills.” said Faust.

“Hey now, I asked her first! We’re dating, actually- a-and she wasn’t on duty, so don’t get on her about that, either! She said she’d be fine with spotting for me during my practice, but right when I was getting into it, that scary plant lady who works security in the hospital showed up and started yelling about being on her roof and stuff. I freaked out, you know how I am when I’m knocked out of a trance. Check the Court Records if you want.” snarled Rollo, before wrapping a meaty arm around his stomach in clear distress. 

“So. You had a Bad Time and accidentally knocked the Blue Cutie off the roof, resulting in their injuries?” said Yiu.

“Yeah. I- I’ve been hiding for three days because I’m always a little shocky after being knocked like that, and I didn’t want to accidentally hurt anyone else. I’m really sorry, Bilah.” said Rollo.

“...I’ll be a-a-alright, Crunchy.” said the Blue Cutie, Bilah.

“I think our victim just confessed to his own murder, nevermind the fact that he legitimately wasn’t sane at that time.” I said.

“It sounds that way to me, too. Which means, Mr. Aster Mistburrow, the Court finds you-” said the Judge.

 

**NOT GUILTY.**

 

BANG went the gavel. Confetti and bits of dried meat flew everywhere.

The Prosecutor’s desk broke apart into neatly sliced pieces, to the sounds of Ms. Faust screaming incoherently. Ms. Faust stalked out, and was immediately accosted by Court Nurses. She’d be genuinely great if she could find a better reason to fight.

Yiu, Aster, and me went out for burgers to celebrate. Then, we had to go home to sleep; and the next day, the write ups. A Trial isn’t over until the paperwork gets filed, but we can skip the rest; god knows I’ve wanted to at times. Important things that came from this Trial; Sue Yiu became a fully recognized lawyer on the prosecutor’s side. Aster’s sleepwalking can’t really be cured, only managed, same as my narcolepsy. And perhaps most importantly of all,  [ my house ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/7f/bd/92/7fbd9281cad9f97d35c0e8fc15b91655.jpg) doesn’t appreciate being ignored. Mostly the garden; I need a gardener, now that my career is starting to take off. Hm. I remember Ms. Shriek, my housekeeper, having a nephew or something that’s a gardener… I’ll talk to her.

 

There are other Office badges, of course. Congressional members, the people who (nominally) make and argue over the Law, and what subclauses of the law we actually need and how far they go- they get a badge too. Theirs is an 11-petal chrysanthemum, with differences in size and color depending on seniority and location. In 869 the two-layered 16-petal chrysanthemum was made the official symbol of the Ruling Queen, a single-layered version having fewer petals being used by the Royal princes and princesses. Use of that particular design outside the Royal Family of Skua is prohibited, with very few exceptions, mostly for temples and shrines that existed before the Royals did. After the… I’m going to say Second Norten War, most of the restrictions on the use of the regular chrysanthemum were eliminated, but the registered chrysanthemum emblem retains a special significance. It appears on the cover sheet of Skuan Merchant documents- passports, docking permits, that sort of thing; and of course, Skuan trademark law prohibits registering trademarks using the Royal designs. The  [ Swan Seal ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/e8/1e/3c/e81e3c8eeeb455713c14568c33966c3d.jpg) also appears on various documents, mostly marriage contracts; it's only a little less ancient, compared to the use of the chrysanthemum. Both of them are on Formal Seals for Royals- not the stamp part, but the sides of the seal so you know on sight who it belongs to and how important it is. 

(Just like lawyers, judges, prosecutors, and paralegals, congressional members also have a special status. Outside the Congress and the Court, there is a further pantheon of legal lapel accessories. That of administrative scriveners, a category of lawyers specializing in documentation, depicts a cosmos flower with the glyph of “administration” in the center, and is supposed to evoke harmony and sincerity. Lawyers who specialize in handling real-estate transactions, documentation, and minor civil litigation, have a small badge depicting the leaves and flowers of the paulownia tree, which has long had a mystical significance and strong associations with- surprise, surprise- the Royal Family. The design has a national significance second only to the chrysanthemum, a similar design being used as the symbol of the Skuan government.

Patent attorneys manage to have a badge with both a 16-petal chrysanthemum and the paulownia. Those who qualify to join Skua’s small population of marine attorneys can get a badge showing the chrysanthemum with a ship’s wheel in the middle (I guess it was that or an anchor). Perhaps because the qualification did not exist until 968, labor and social security attorneys have a fusion design: a chrysanthemum emblazoned with the Common letters S and R, perhaps to help remind you of the profession’s name in the mind of the populace: Social Reform.

My personal favorite is the Badge issued to tax attorneys, mainly because its symbolism subtly counters the absurd degree to which political and legal power is concentrated in Fiddler’s Green. An elegant design showing a subdued cherry blossom within a circle, the latter represents the sun and daily prosperity. The cherry blossom is an informal symbol of the Office of Finance, whose mint in Sugarditch has long been famous for its blossoms. Also, the first officially recognized tax attorney qualification was established by the Sugarditch county government.)

 

 

Yet, as the above should make clear, it is the Trial Lawyer’s defensive sunflower badge that is most unique. Just like the profession of its wearer, the badge bears no symbolic ties to the Royal system or Official authority.

As with the Defense Trial Lawyer (which is what I am), most of these other professional badges have various rules about when or if they must be worn. Some also bear identifying numbers and procedures for getting replacements. For those professions that don’t go to court or exercise special powers, their value is mainly decorative. Yet the logic of the Skuan law badges has to be appreciated. If someone says, “Trust me, I’m a lawyer,” or a doctor or- well, if the speaker can’t show you a badge, you should immediately be suspicious. The same goes for any of the other legal professions. Still, in an age when most legal advice is delivered by phone or over mailed correspondence, the badge may increasingly be a quaint anachronism, like the wigs of Norten barristers.

But for some things, like personal satisfaction, nothing less than a badge will do.

 

 

I’ve been tutoring Ace in his law degree- he wants to become a Maritime Lawyer, with the badge and everything- and because he’s a Royal, he’s entitled to a bunch of things. Mostly, I think he wants to be like Granuna, he’s taken a real shine to her. He’s almost done, he just needs to finish his last Trial and do some vocal training- there’s almost never call for a Maritime Lawyer in Skua, but there might need to be one in the lower Blues.

Of course, there’s other reasons he might want a Martime Lawyer Badge, but I can’t say those out loud, it just- isn't done. Best to not even think it.

 

I’m actually the person who officiated my brother Ace’s marriage.

So, just like everything else in Skua, teamwork is paramount to being a Lawyer. In my case, I have  [ Aster Mistburrow ](http://img4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20100719012325/finalfantasy/images/b/b0/XI_White_Mage_Artwork.jpg) , my medical examiner and spirit channeler (the  [ caduceus ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d4/20/c6/d420c692e930ce9e9dde032d9a1a9fb0.jpg) is the symbol; the two transformations of life and death, along the post that connects heaven and earth and the symbol of Skua, the wings), Quigley’s youngest brother; I have  [ Ren Combag’again ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/39/29/44/3929448becc1b33ae2035aa64b744410.jpg) , my paralegal- mostly, he helps me file my records after the Trials (I’ll explain his badge momentarily); and I have  [ Sage Nowage ](http://68.media.tumblr.com/c597143499b3cb705237c5d28941abda/tumblr_o3fu7b7VAw1rx95foo1_1280.jpg) , my research assistant- mostly, he helps me find legal precedents and decide if we even have to go to court- usually, we don’t. (His badge is a six point star with straight lines through the top-most point and the bottom-most point; it’s the combined alchemical symbols of fire, water, earth, and air.) They’re nice guys, if a bit eccentric (I’m looking at you Aster). Technically, they’re all classed as paralegals; I’m the only honest to goddesses Lawyer.

We’d also brought along Chewy Rollo and Quigley Mistburrow who didn’t really have anything better to do. Chewy is a childhood friend- older than me and Crunchy, by three years or so, and so I was fourteen when it happened- Ace asking Moda, I mean.  [ Chewy ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/cc/cf/d2/cccfd27620564d52d3b7ab18f2c202ac--character-portraits-portrait-photo.jpg) uses her words more than anything else- but also the occasional bout of fisticuffs if absolutely necessary. She’s a silver tongued devil, and an excellent Musician, in the Skuan sense. Plays the lute.  [ Quigley ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/ea/cf/8d/eacf8df8f43fb9ce6eab1a1e4fecc79f.jpg) is a Spirit Channeller; not necessarily the best, but damn good. He also uses small explosives technically classed as fireworks, and a pair of swords. They were both retiring from Office work; something about Sea Longing. I’ve never felt the phenomenon, so I can’t say I understand.

My brother Ace laid eyes on them and Knew and that was that- dunno how that all worked out, but I do know the next Famband we brought them back with all their stuffs so I guess it worked out fine, and that was also the Famband I married Ace to Moda, so.

Oh, yeah- we also also brought along an Off-duty  [ Sue Yiu ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/27/ab/a4/27aba45c9a1e798d1b1f53176f4d55a4.jpg) ; even with her bionic eye covered over, and her not wearing makeup...

If I’m not in Court or running a Trial, my recollection of events gets a bit… screwy. So it could be that my Rival is a Demon. And it could be that she just forgot to take her curlers out.

I just don’t know.

We were at Famband, having lunch on the Moby in the caf- they don’t call it a cafeteria, they call it a galley. Ace asked me for advice concerning his final Trial- and I replied “Power is useless without skill and speed. Fight seriously, or don’t fight at all, Ace.” Each of us had different advice to give, but mine seemed to strike him hardest.

I could see the moment Ace came to that decision making place I like to call the “Fuckit Threshold” because that’s the point where you take a look at what’s happening, say “fuck it”, and just go for it. Ace got up from his empty spot, grabbed the secure phone from next to his Pops, and sat back down. Then he called Moda.

Lunch hadn’t even started yet.

 

This is what Ace said, no hello, no nothing.

“So I know when I asked you to be mine there was a lot of extenuating circumstances but what I was really asking was for you to marry me. Was that clear? I want to marry you- is that clear enough?” said Ace.

“...So, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you don’t really understand how timezoning works because it’s three in the morning here. With that said, I’ve never been one to wait around on a good thing; give me an hour to get everything ready on my end, and we’ll go for it. So- yes, Ace, I’ll marry you.” said Moda.

“Okay.” said Ace.

“Okay.” said Moda.

And then she hung up.

 

I looked at my Boys. They looked at me. Aster started pulling out various forms; Ren sorted through them, and started setting the ones we actually needed into a pile; and Sage went to talk to Mab about something. I looked at Chewy and Quigley, who looked at me and winked. Right. This is it.

Sue Yiu was mumbling to herself- something along the lines of ‘It’s just her life, isn’t it-’ but she makes a serious effort to not speak much at all outside of vocal coaching and Court. So.

I got up and- after getting the nod from Aster and Ren- took the stack of forms with me to speak with Ace. Whitebeard was staring at Ace with a raised eyebrow, and Marco had propped up his face with his hand, smiling at Ace. But that’s not important- I know he’s taken instruction from Danelphe, but it’s time now to find out how much he’s learned. This is his final Trial, after all. My second, his third.

Here we go.

 

“I am Portgas D. Tigerlily Orlaith; I will be your Trial Lawyer for the Trial of Leviathan. Please state your name.” I said, after taking a seat directly in front of him and gently moving the snail to one side.

“I am Portgas D. Ace Ariel.” said Ace.

“Age?” I said.

“Twenty two.” said Ace.

“Occupation?” I said.

“Pirate- um. In the Skuan- Salvager and Marauder.” he said.

“I see. What are your intentions in entering this marriage?” I said.

“Naming and solidifying the bond between myself and Moda of the Sargasso; Legitimizing my children’s Names; and making Provision for Moda and my children’s future.” he said.

“What bond is between yourself and Moda of the Sargasso?” I said.

“Love and respect.” he said.

“What are your children’s names, for the Record?” I said.

“Portgas D. Theodosia Emile, Portgas D. Theodora Myra, and Portgas D. Theodore Rogue.”

“What do you provide them?” I said.

“I have provided a house for them to live in; and a city for them to grow in; and a lagoon for them to return to, if their home becomes too small or the greater seas too tempestuous. And… if they want, I’ll provide a path they can follow, too.” he said.

“And what do you gain?” I said.

“I gain… I gain peace of mind. I already have their love, and I don’t need money or anything material like that- I’m doing this to be happy, really.” he said, almost reluctantly.

“That’s a good reason. Thank you for being so honest.” I said.

“...sure.” he said.

“You have your seals?” I said.

“Yeah.” he said, carefully pulling out a trio of cases.

 

So there are three kinds of seals- the Lawful, which is the most official kind of seal, has it’s own certificate of authentication and everything. Usually made of some kind of wood or horn, inlaid with mother of pearl if you’re a woman, ivory if you’re a man, and amber if you're a daun. (Dana is the plural form; Daun is the singular. Mab’s been doing weird things to language her entire life.) There’s the Monetary, which is made of some kind of precious metal- usually plated in gold, but there’s always some kind of underlying metal to keep the strength of the piece up. Aluminum and Tungsten are popular. And then there’s the Persona, which is used on everything that isn’t a Lawful document or a bank transaction; mine is made of frosted glass with little flowers on the sides. Oh- it’s proper to have each seal be a different shape. Lawful Seals are ovoid; Monetary Seals are round; and Persona Seals are squared or rectangular.

You can get them as a set in individual cases at most conbini world wide; so long as you have them registered with your local government and the bank, it’s fine. It’s a custom that… basically grew up congruent to written history? I’ve no idea how old the practice is, but it’s current incarnation traces itself back to Wano.

 

Ace has three insho; the Lawful has the most complex glyph on it. It’s in the  [ old Skuan runes ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/9f/42/b9/9f42b9f10a6f64912d1f5ddd284b6439.jpg) ; translates to “Manifestation of Fire”, with a bit of translator’s grift. I think that’s the right word. The Monetary is his full name in Poneglyphs which is terrifying and also exactly what they’re for, so I’m not… It’s terrifying that someone wrote out his full name, really. Anyone could call themselves anything, as they liked. But you stamp down your registered insho- that’s a different thing. (I actually helped Mab get her insho reinstated; pain in the ass to go through claims court, but dammit, she’s not dead and deserves access to her money and for her marriage to be recognized; she paid me the extra fee to get her children’s birth and death certificates back as well. Bitter work; sweet rest. So she’s got her insho back and certificates for her seven children, I mean to say, and to hell with the consequences.) As far as I know, only Mab has ever come close to saying her full name out loud and she’s more than a little crazy. Anyway, the Persona can be a mass produced whatever- mine is glass, but Ace’s is one of those ink-cartridge things you can get a replacement pack of thirty ink for at the 100 beri or less store for 100 beri (or less).

Ace uses the standard red ink for all his insho; so do I. So does everyone in our family, really. Don’t fix what isn’t broken.

Most lawyers don’t carry fax machines around with them. I do, and it’s never ceased being a damn good idea; when I need one, I have one, and all the dongles to set it up to the nearest phone, secure or otherwise.

 

“Shit.” said Ace.

“Sup?” I said.

“We don’t have a fax machine.” said Ace.

“Oh. Well, thankfully I carry one around for just such occasions.” I say, pulling out  [ my fax machine ](http://www.xeroxscanners.com/images/products/TS150/TS150.jpg) . Marco started laughing at that point, so-

 

“If you can’t be quiet, you’ll have to sit over there. Or stifle your laughter, I really don’t care.” I said, pointing at Marco.

“So-rahahahaha- ahahahaha- so you’re going to use that as a fax ma-hahahaha-machine, yoi?” cackled Marco.

“Yes. -I did say that I carry it around for just such occasions. Perhaps I was unclear? Although I’ve heard- well, best not to cast aspersions of senility, I fear.” I said.

I really don’t like being laughed at.

 

I’ve set up the travel-fax often enough that I don’t need to look at what my hands are doing anymore; just click-click-click-click and it’s done. Load the empty Tone Dials (No. 2 size), enable printing, make sure the inker is ready to go; and then we’re ready to go. Ace has actually seen a fax machine just like this in Mom’s office, and he’s even seen her use it and I know he has because I was there too at the time, so he’s not laughing like Marco is.

The phone rings. Ace answers.

Okay, here we go.

 

“Moda?” said Ace.

“Ace.” said Moda.

“You ready?” said Ace.

“Of course. You?” said Moda.

“Yeah. Tilly?” said Ace.

“Standby-ready.” I said.

“Right. Darla?” said Moda.

“Standby. Ready.” said Darla. 

“Initiating Fax and Data Transfer.” I said, then flipped the button and the papers went swish-swish-swish; Darla said it in unison with me, and then- Transferal. 

 

The noise is…  [ once you’ve heard it ](https://youtu.be/gsNaR6FRuO0) , you know it for itself, and that’s all I’ll say about it. It’s distinct and weird and unforgettable.

And then it’s done.

 

“Finalizing print.” Darla and I said in unison.

 

We put new paper in, printed out the complete version of the marriage certificate, and then, to finish. I made “X” marks in the three places Ace needed to stamp and sign.

 

“Read it, sign where indicated, and seal most to least formally please. Thankfully, this paperwork really is a breeze.” I said.

 

Ace nodded, read his contract, signed, sealed, and that was it. Well, he still had to pay me and I still had to file it, but for all legal purposes the actual marriage bit was over. Marco had stopped laughing as soon as he heard the Sound, and was staring at the marriage certificate I was carefully reading through to make absolutely sure there were no clauses or subclauses, but no- standard marriage contract, nothing to worry about.

 

“Okay. Your marriage contract is all in order; I’ll have it filed properly on the morrow, as the Skuan Offices of Government aren’t open on Songsday- sorry, Sunday. Bye, Darla!” I said.

“Bye, Tilly! Call you later, dearie!” said  [ Darla Faust ](http://fast1.onesite.com/capcom-unity.com/user/kenjiharima/official_artworks/sakurasfiv03.jpg?v=157500) .

 

I tuned out of the rest of the conversation; put Ace’s wedding papers in order, added Moda’s Wedding Vows to Ace’s and put it all in a file Sage handed to me, a nice  [ red one ](http://www.pocketfolds.co.nz/images/close-up-red-metallic.jpg) . Ren handed me a pair of bags, a plain blue one for me and a fancier blue one for Ace. Tone Dials out- or rather, Tone Files, considering what’s in them. I keep one; Ace gets the other. So that’s sorted; he’s done for a standard ‘lifetime’ rate of eighty year's, or till death do you part.

Finally, Aster hands me the book of fees and a blank invoice pad and a highlighter and another, different folder, a  [ gilded greensprout one ](http://www.blog.montessoriforeveryone.com/wp-content/uploads/folder1.jpg) , so I could tally everything up. Which I did. It all comes together at an even 3500 beri or 35 dola, whichever is easier for him. I highlight the price, and carefully write in my wedding gift to him. (Cost 43 dola, which- I literally get paid more than that as a daily salary, nevermind commision, so, it’s fine.)

 

“Right. This is your copy of the Song File; if you ever want to have another copy of your Marriage Certificate and Vows printed, you need only present it at any Skua-friendly Print Shop- as marked by the sigils of which you are surely aware-” I say, flicking my Badge at him.

 

Ace smirks and nods.

 

“-and they’ll have it done in like, an hour, for a modest fee. If you ever lose your copy of the File, please remember that the Master Copy is in the Hall of Songs, in the Swan Court; you’ll need to bring all three of your seals or have Moda bring all three of hers, and for a more hefty fee they’ll provide you new everything.” I say, carefully packing up my fax machine and putting away my pen and writing board.

 

Ace is grinning wider.

 

“If you lose your seals- well. I can, of course, help you fill out and file your necessary paperwork, which is a bit of a brick, and I won’t kill you for having to do it- but Ace, dear brother… ** _you’ll wish to Hell I had. It’s not impossible, of course, but I’ll be very mad.”_** I said, my voice gone all sonorous and stentorian like it does when I’m in court there at the end because I never, ever want to fill out that stack of paper again. I’ve only lost my insho once. Once was enough. Never again- it was only made slightly easier because of the fact that I had my Trial Badge and my Photographic ID card but no. No. Never again.

And then I tucked  [ my wings ](http://images.travelpod.com/users/elrigster/1.1294893259.large-bat.jpg) away from their position of pure menace; mostly, I keep them folded up because I’m not quite old enough to have them out in the open. And they get cold. But they are  _ very big wings _ and when I menace with them, that person I menaced  **_stays_ ** menaced.

Ace grimaces, and nods, and carefully packs away his seals. Good.

 

“As far as weddings go, that is out of the purview of the Skuan Office of Law, so please handle that yourself.” I said, smirking.

“Weddings are parties that celebrate the successful signing of a marriage contract, correct?” he said.

“As far as I’m aware, yes- please try not to have the party until after this upcoming Moonday; your marriage technically isn’t valid until after it’s registered.” I said.

“Cool. Thank you, Tilly.” he said.

 

Marco is choking on his coffee.

Chewy and Quigley were grinning because the Lawyer Trial has as a second task to “Speak with Strength of Voice” and I’m not terribly- I hadn’t been able to make myself do it outside of practice Court in the back hall of our Office and in Court but you have to if you want to be recognized as an actual bonafide lawyer. So. First trial was passing the Bar Exam; second is to Speak with Strength of Voice; third is to Examine the Other Side. One, two, three.

 

“Oh yes- and before you go, take a look in the green folder. You’ll find the records for your children; size, weight, birth gender, blood type, place of birth, ink prints of their hands and feet, and their names all written up nice in fancy gold ink. Since you now have their certificates, you’re entitled to the same kind of tattoo Mab has- the stars, on her neck?” I said.

“Oh. Oh! Right, yes- thank you?” Ace said.

“Mm. Again, please wait until after this upcoming Moonday- your contract won’t be filed until then. Anyway, Congratulations.” I said, and then I finished packing everything. Rolled my neck to get the stress out.

Ace took another look at his invoice, then up at me. Raised his brow. I raised mine back. He grinned.

 

“Thank you, Tilly.” he said.

“You’re most welcome, Asher. Congratulations, again.” I said.

 

So that’s what happened that Famband, and I guess we discussed actually having a wedding, which is a celebratory party for the signing of the marriage contract, and in Skua happens after getting married. I mean, I interjected about some of the particulars about the marriage contract itself, and the reason you even have one- but a wedding is not the meat and potatoes of the marriage, it’s the gravy. A man cannot live off gravy. Nadia was super happy to be given the task, I remember that; said she’d be coordinating with whoever was in the rest of the Whitebeards and with Moda’s majordomo to get things squared away.

 

Oh, and Ezra’s badge? It has nothing to do with law, formally speaking: she’s an official Brewmaster. She is now officially a Boozehound, a qualification title with unfortunate connotations; she could study to be a Master Sommelier, but that’ll be a few months at least, considering it takes a while for Lifewine to ferment correctly.

For her Boozehound qualifications, she had to read and understand a textbook, take a short class and pass a test with a 95-percent pass rate- much easier than any bothersome legal exams. (Well, OK, the Low Blue Bar is almost as easy, I hear.) She’s also wildly overqualified, what with her degrees in organic chemistry. I proctored her exam, which counted for my third, so.

 

Anyway, Ezra plans to wear her badge the cool way- with only the pin cover showing- and to only flash it when she gets into an argument with a Cheesemaker. They have a badge too, of course.

 

* * *

 

Getting married is easy; costs about four thousand five hundred beri to do it. Weddings are much more expensive.

 

Mostly, if it comes down to it, Moda and I can grab the kids and just- elope. Leave them to the party and go have family time, just us. But for now, I’ll endure party planning.

Lots and lots of party planning, with Nadia.

 

Uuuuuugh.


	25. 13:00; Bitter Spice

It is inevitable to believe that we come into this world with instincts; an unknown conscious which is the means to our development. Without this instinct, many physical activities taken for granted would be a prioritized thought, such as breathing, sleeping, and walking. If we did not come into this world with instincts, everyday life would be a struggle because our minds would have to think each reflex through for every movement.

 

I say this because I’ve just torn the throat out of a wild boar with my bare claws, and now I’m soaked through with pig’s blood again. It doesn’t stink foul like menses blood; stinks like snow. I use a cup for my menstruation. It is  [ a size A compact cup ](https://ksr-ugc.imgix.net/assets/011/863/702/e786a2e53197b1d1e0fa10fc58465e5c_original.jpg?w=1024&h=576&fit=fill&bg=FEFEFE&v=1463706019&auto=format&q=92&s=4bda20b76c77a11c62fc08f8dbea95c4) that can be cleaned with a quick swish in clean water and replaced straight away. The size A is meant for people who have not brooded children yet, like me. It holds all my endometrium and drippings from my menstruation cycle. I refuse to be a person that is not honest about having an internal organ that sheds it’s endometrium lining every twenty eight days so I don’t get septicemia and die. I have such an organ. It’s right between my hip bones, that little bit that protrudes. That is not fat. 

That is a muscle pouch purpose built for the brooding of young internally. 

Mine works, the end. 

 

Could do without the diarrhea and acne, but nothing is perfect.

I honestly like being a woman, just- I guess there are parts of being a human that just aren’t  [ fun ](https://youtu.be/bUANL9WoB90?t=52s) .

 

Gender and gender identity are not the same as sex or sex identity. Kusanagi the Sword was given the Devil Fruit now known as ‘Onna’; but when she was new, it was called ‘Female Human’. So sometimes, if she wants, she can become a human with a penis instead of a vagina.

Kusanagi and I are partners- sometimes lovers, but mostly just partners. The first person I ever had sex with who had a penis was Kusanagi.

It’s weird- I don’t like Kusanagi like that, and after we had sex, we talked and decided that we do love each other- really, we do- but not like that. If the time ever comes where I need to get married, if nothing else I know that I could marry Kusanagi.

But… I want more than just a best friend to be married to. I want a lover, too.

Kusanagi, for all her humanity, is still very much a sword.

 

 

Here's a joke about what I have to say about the people of Amazon Lily. I'd call them cunts, but they lack both depth and warmth. I'd call them dicks, but they lack strength, size, and girth. Hell, I'd tell you what I really think of them, but that would be insulting to the various animals and actions. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Kusanagi is laughing at me, because I swore I wouldn’t get covered in blood again. I have, of course- I’m dripping in it. Snake is also laughing at me, but also spitting out gobs of blood. Little boomslang snarkbutt. I’m still quite hungry though- so. I heave the boar up with my wings to build strength, and make the long trek back into the village. 

Conditioning Week the Second.

I lost my downtime clothing within the first few days and I haven’t bothered with getting more, not even shoes. I get covered in viscera often enough that it’s just not worth the trouble, really. Kusanagi says she doesn’t care what I wear, so long as I keep her with me; says I’m her swordfighter, and she’ll not be parted from me. Snake is more pragmatic; I bring down lots of tasty food, and it’s nearly her laying season. She said she’s already bred, and it’s about time for her to find a nice tree hollow to nest in. She doesn’t consider me her woman, or anything, but I’m definitely a friend of some kind.

I don’t really like the Amazons here- except for Gurry, and maybe the Empress Boa Hancock and her sisters, Sandersonia and Marigold. Trafalgar Law is also nice, although he stinks like death and bananas. Deathnanas. Also, he keeps having to have his shoulders put back in? I’m getting very good at fixing deep muscle tearing and stress and there’s a massage to make it not hurt and take a bit less than three minutes, I’ve done it so often now- anyway. Trafalgar Law keeps forgetting his safe word, because he is a stupid man who gets over-excited when Boa Hancock brings out the riding crop.

I think I’ll stop by  [ Gurry’s ](http://static.zerochan.net/Marguerite.%28ONE.PIECE%29.full.1704556.jpg) place later; he might want to trade the tusks, or have something better than a cold drafty cave for Snake to nest in. Gurry yis a Kuja- it’s wrong to say that there are no men on Amazon Lily. There are no foreign men on Amazon Lily except for Trafalgar Law and his crew and I don’t think they quite count anymore, what with him being the Empress' favorite concubine and brooding partner. She’s getting so huge, it’s crazy. Elder Nyon wants me there for the birthing and I’m not sure why but apparently I’m a protege to Mab the Midwife which- okay, yes, but I’m not exactly a midwife? So Mab’s been teaching me that too, because Amazon Lily doesn’t have enough of them to meet with demand. Not my favorite thing but it’s also very fulfilling to be of such use.

 

Concerning demand- ever since Mab tore the World Government a new one, there’s been a worldwide baby boom, especially on the Line. Just. Everyone who can and might even be considering it is having lots and lots of babies right the fuck now. It’s not just the Empress whose pregnant, it’s her sisters too, and I don’t really want to know this detail but they’re all breeding with Trafalgar Law. Mab told me once that Trafalgar Lami figured out that their Amber Lead Syndrome was there to protect them, not hurt them, and wouldn’t show up at all in low lead environments like most of the world that isn’t Flevance. Trafalgar Lami got one of her doctorates for her writing on the subject; and I guess Trafalgar Law read it? Thesis I think is the word. So- I guess Trafalgar Law saw an opportunity and just went for it? I can smell him on all three women, and they’re having their babies more or less congruently, so. And it's not just them! Women are swelling left right and center with babies in their internal brooding pouches.

Apparently he wanted to be a homebody this whole time? Except the Empress and her sisters don’t really Campaign anymore either, so- it might be that they’ve decided to Nest for a while before going back out. Honestly, this might be the safest time for them to do so, what with the world in crazy turmoil or about to be; and the Empress has more or less taken over the portion of Capricorna that’s between the Sargasso and the Red Line. Even the sudden addition of a massive archipelago chain inside the Sargasso Kelp Forest didn’t really change much of the Amazon Lily holding in the Calm Belt, just added a friendly neighbor who is also amenable- and able!- to trade, tour, and otherwise bring interesting, safe, and new things to the table.

It’s a time of extraordinary romance; the world is currently undergoing a state of powerful revolution.

Heavy shit.

 

Here's a joke. What's the difference between sexists and pigs? Pigs don't turn into sexists when they drink. Ha. Ha. Ha.

 

With that said, no Kuja male ever really leaves Amazon Lily either. Gurry- Margurite- is a married man, and I wouldn’t infringe on that. He’s actually considered odd, probably due to his ideas about leaving the island and becoming more than what he is now. If I was married to him- no, that’s silly and unrealistic. I’m not in there, I don’t understand. 

Gurry paints. He's a painter. He's very much all the things I like in a person, much less a man. I want to kiss him and touch him and cuddle him and hold him when he cries. 

He cries all the time, but he won't say anything about it. Twobolt Tulip doesn't love him like he loves her; for Gurry, Twobolt is his everything. For Twobolt, Gurry's a distraction. He says he wants to raise children; really, he wants to paint. He loves to paint. 

I bring him things to make paint with; precious stones and seashells, woods and chunks of lac resin. I bring him pelts and make brushes in my spare time, feathers from birds I hunt and from seagulls, and from my own wings when I clean them. He gives me paintings just large enough to fit in my palm; gorgeous, tiny captures of light in ground stone and oil made with brushes of feathers. I grind gold, and silver in oil, opal dust; he likes special effects. 

We have to do this secretly, because it's not quite proper for a married man in Amazon Lily to be called on by an unmarried woman. Amazon Lily sounds like a feminist fantasy but it's actually the most tyrannical matriarchy I've ever seen; it can't be a patriarchy because it's women in power, but the sentiments held are much the same. Foreign men, of course, are  _ fauna _ , as in  _ wild animals _ , while local men are called  _ taemesh _ , or  _ tame animals _ . Women are universally  _ fluera,  _ or  _ flowers.  _ It's flowers that go to war, not animals. Animals are only good for breeding- be it more animals, or more flowers.

There's a reason I do my very best to only associate with Gurry, Mab, Trafalgar Law and his crew, and the Empress and her sisters. Apparently I'm a sexy, sexy woman and I can  _ hardly stand being around anyone here I hate it I hate it I  _ **_hate them I hate it here-_ **

Kusanagi will fight anyone, anytime, but... how do you fight a country's mind? And should I? Because I also understand this- the men who want to raise children and be fathers, there's nothing wrong with that. The women who want to stop going out and fighting, but stay home and teach their children their skills- that's fine too. But... I think my problem comes with the circumstances of Gurry.

Not every man is like Gurry. But there are enough that... I don't know what I mean to say, so I won't say anything at all.

Men and women can be Just Friends and it’s Fine.

I will not be here forever.

I'm not Bryony.

I’m not Mark.

I am Dracule Taffeta, and I will be the Greatest Ninja in the World. With a side-order of candy making and possibly clowning, it depends on what I can figure out.

 

My very favorite thing to do when the local girls try to chat me up, because lesbian relationships are far more popular for flings- my very favorite thing to do is this. The current vogue of jokes is to make sexist remarks in a humorous manner, focused on men. My favorite thing to do is to pretend I don't understand the joke and ask them to explain it to me, and then I say after they've explained it three or four different times, I say "That's really Ugly" and I walk away. Works every time. I feel a warm curl of satisfaction every time I get to do that and they still haven't caught on. It's always true, too, so it's a guilt free satisfaction.

Elder Nyon always has to stifle cackles every time she comes across me doing it, too, so it's not like I'm the only person in the valley who thinks treating men like dumb interchangeable animals only good for breeding is Stupid and Wrong and the ones who do it are being Stupid and Wrong. It might feel like it, but it's not true.

Men belong in the kitchen; women belong in the kitchen. Everyone belong in the kitchen. Kitchen has food. Ha. Ha. Ha.

I wrote that to Sanji and Mab wrote back that he laughed until tears started coming out of his nose and then they had to have a hug and snuggle until he calmed down again. Thus is the power of a well placed humorous comment. It's not possible to restrain all my violent tendencies, my cruel wants, my carnal desires- but if I want to be part of the group, I have to. But inside, it feels like the sound the kettle makes right before it starts screaming, building up and cooling down, heating up, cooling down- but instead of screaming and screaming and screaming blood everywhere rub one out with the corpses own face- I make jokes and I play pranks because I don't really want to skull fuck a woman with a cucumber I just really really fucking don't like the way you talk about your husband, Spider Lily “Syrup”.

 

Here's a joke. Miss Larkspur down the lane just had a baby, a little newborn. The kid is adorable, so cute. She wouldn’t let me hold him, she refuses. She says, ‘No way, Taffy, I’m afraid you’re gonna drop him.’ I’m nineteen years old. Like I’m some kind of idiot. Like I don’t have a million other ways to hurt that baby.

 

I make jokes to bring people in; I make jokes to push people away. I roll a joke across the ground when I'm afraid and I feel like I can't go on but I have to and I make a joke when I want to get away from "logical thought" which is, at it's highest levels, very painful. 

 

Here's a joke. I sometimes wish the mothers of these teenagers following me around and giggling and cooing and squeezing their legs together when they see me walking past nude and coated in blood had just swallowed them, because then they'd be pains in their mothers throats and stomachs instead of pains in my ass. Ha. Ha. Ha.

 

It’s funny- I keep meeting people who have extremely unfair expectations heaped on them, either by themselves or by their societies. Seems like all my favorite people are like that- Mab, Sanji, Gurry. Mihawk, too, though it’s harder to see. I shall explain why Mihawk makes the favorites list momentarily.

The Amazonian teens always end up cooing and giggling over me when I come back from the wilds with whatever I’ve caught. Every week or so, I leave a trail of blood and viscera, which the local population of feral dogs loves me for. They follow me, lapping and snapping up all the things I leave behind. You know, it used to be I wouldn’t have punched a dog in the head.

I’ve got a cave up the mountain; Elder Nyon said I would live in it for as long as I was on the island. It’d been lived in by people before; there was a fire pit, and a shelf for sleeping on. It’s been nearly a year since I’ve started living here; I’ve got thick furs and hides around my cave, now, and my bed is soft with feathers from the birds I’ve hunted. The only reason I really put on clothing now is for when I have to go off the island. I’m going to be happy to leave this place, I think. I miss wearing clothes.

 

Here's a joke. Somewhere in Empress Boa Hancock's family tree, there is a man. If you go high enough on the mountain, you can find the tree they hung him on. Ha. Ha.

 

Many have argued that the development of instinct is due to nature rather than nurture. The idea that one is born with these abilities and as they grow older, they naturally start to become more accessible- that’s the idea. There are many years research that have proved that while instincts are given to us at birth, it takes exercising and motivation to reach the full potential promised by the presence of instinctive reactions. This is the nurture half of the argument, and it is argued that the responsibility of teaching a child how to walk or eat properly falls on the parent.

 

Mab made me pick out a  [ battle costume ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/f4/0f/2c/f40f2c3e3af2eb98731b5d0cc27eb0ac.jpg) ; it’s much like what I normally wear, except it’s a backless shirt of dark grey and a sleek black suit. I saw it on a Mink in Mab’s look book and fell in love instantly.

Mab is an exacting teacher. Part of me loves her for it- there is nothing I want more than to fly, and to fly properly. And part of me hates her for it- but then, what I’m really feeling is frustration at my own inadequacy. I don’t hate that Mab wants me to be perfect- I hate that I want to be perfect and I’ve not yet managed it.

Flight practice schedule goes like this: two days on, one day off, for ten weeks. Two weeks furlough and leisure. Two weeks conditioning. Then, back on the training schedule for another ten weeks. It’s happened three times already; this, right now, is my Off Week. Mab said that it worked out to three complete sessions where she’d drill the basics into us both until it stuck or we died, one of the two; and then we both get an extra seven days to relax.

Flight practice for the first training cycle went like this; Mab forced me to learn and understand and relearn how exactly my wings move through the air, every inch and feather. Then, she took me up into someplace special. And she made me do it again.

That place… I call it the  [ Sky Arena ](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cRPKcdC2nXI/VotFH5tHhqI/AAAAAAAAAag/hY5MnvFKOms/s640/vlcsnap-2016-01-05-01h09m12s653.png) . Deep inland on Amazon Lily, there yis a- Mab calls it a Forge, but it’s a dead volcano. Maybe it was a forge? It yis said that Fae could make weapons of dread and terrible power- anyway. In the caldera there yis a lake, and reflected in that lake yis the Arena. You can look up into the Sky and see only blue and clouds; but I know the secret. I Know it.

It was in that place that I learned to truly flap and flutter. Mab taught me by making learning the basics of gliding into a vital task; if I didn’t learn to her expectations, I didn’t eat. And when I really needed a kick in the ass, she’d take Kusanagi.

Every day I wasn’t resting, I would get just a touch faster, just a flick faster. I began to stop making silly mistakes and my learning curve increased; I began to polish my technique by solidifying and polishing my basics.

I loved and hated her for it in equal measure. My excitement to eat and be reunited with my partner became the excitement to fly, the joy of it- it wasn’t something I learned to do and had to think about, it’s… by now, in my training, it’s instinct. It’s like walking, or talking, or using my claws a little bit- I thought about it hard before I did it before, but now… I just do it.

Sometimes, Mab-teacher would kick me from the Arena and I would fall. Every time I fell, I would flap and flap and slow and hit the water of the lake below with a splash. The day I didn’t hit the water at all was the last day of my First Training Cycle.

Second Cycle I did it all again but with weights.

Third Cycle more again but with fighting kata and heavier weights.

Work hard, play hard.

 

Here's a joke. Why do tampons have strings? So you can floss after eating. Ha.

 

One day, during an Off Day, I took a trip back to the village and checked on my cave to make sure nothing had moved in and found Gurry, curled up in my bed. His body was a mass of bruising, and there were tears going down his face. Usually, Gurry has a snake companion, an Amazonian Longbow Snake; he did. It was cut in half, like with an arrow, and he was curled around it. (Poor little Marmalade; he loved Gurry more than  _ anything _ .)

This wasn’t what I wanted to spend my time on. Kusanagi is silent. So is Snake; she was very fat with eggs when I left to train, but when I came back, she was slim again. Slid right onto my neck and decided to leave the deep Wilds with me. She was shivering in that snake way around my neck, her scales clamping hard around the branch of my throat.

I sighed, and decided what my priorities really were.

I stretched out a wing, and carefully curled my wing claws into a ball, gently tapped my knuckles against Gurry’s unbruised skin. Snake slid from around my neck and across my shoulder, up across the tiny downy feathers that guard the joint and then over my scapular feathers. Snake slid over my marginal coverts, and then passed from my alula feathers to my balled up claws to Gurry’s skin. Gurry’s eyes opened as soon as I touched him, but they were tear dulled.

We became friends after his wife left him.

Apparently, he was too womanish for her.

It’s too soon to say her loss, but- her loss.

I took him out to meet Mab, the most womanly woman I know.

Mab liked him as he was, so I think the problem was probably his wife, not him.

 

Here's a joke. What's the difference between erotic and kinky? Erotic is using a feather; Kinky is using the whole damn bird. 

 

Mab liked him immediately, but- well, I asked her to introduce Gurry to Captain, see if he fit our Crew. He has a Dream, y’see. He has to be a sailor, and sail on the sea. He’s got the sea longing, so he can’t not go to sea- it’ll kill his soul, not to go. But he wants to do still life paintings of all the orchids in the world; he’s an amazing painter. He wants to be one of the Best Painters in the World. That’s his Dream.

My Dream is mostly just to be the best me I can be. Maybe a dancer? Still don’t know. I mean, I want to be the World’s Greatest Ninja but aside from that- I can have more than one dream. Maybe babies eventually?

 

I was there when Mab introduced Captain to Marguerite.

I was there when Captain said to Gurry “Join my crew!”

I was there when Gurry said “Okay.”

 

Gurry hugged me and cried. I’ve got my sister friends of course; but I’ve never had a best friend before. It’s nice.

 

Gurry smells like oil and chemicals and poison; he dances on the wind like a feather or a leaf. He likes cuddling with me during our off days, but I’m working very hard to not be his Rebound- I don’t want to be that for him. I want… I want more than that.

Just gotta wait.

Just gotta wait and endure.

Ninjas endure.

I just have to endure a sexy half naked blond with a big fat dick and the cutest bouncy testicles and muscles everywhere in good proportion and a musky smell that makes my mouth water snuggling with me and innocently fondling my tits and stroking my ass and dry humping orgasms out of me in his sleep, have to endure the bleachy smell of his midnight orgasms and the thicker musk of his man-stank arousal just have to- wait for it. I just have to endure. 

Until he stops crying randomly and he stops being Overwhelmed and until he can look at me and see more than just a Model, but a friend; I have to endure. I will endure until he looks into my eyes and sees a reflection of my soul.

And if that never happens… I’ll just have to be sad, and upset, and move on.

But for now, I’ll just wait.

 

 

 

I helped Gurry get acquainted with the rest of our crewmates, all over the World. Gurry got introduced to Zoro first, and then got into a small battle- even in Amazon Lily, men would measure their dicks. I wandered around with Kusa-chan. Then, I patched both of them up and had myself a scrap with Zoro because I missed sparring with my sword teacher. And then I ran away from Dracule Mihawk because he’s very quiet and fast and I have no desire to challenge him for the title of “Best Swordsman in the World” but he also looks like me and I look like him and Miss Perona scolded him fiercely when he kept pace with me through his house and kept staring at me when I was ignoring him and-

 

“MI’HAWK TELL THAT POOR WOMAN WHAT YOU WANT FROM HER ALREADY- læ̂w mā t̄hụ̄x lūk k̄hxng khuṇ khuṇ khn ngò!” She shrieked laughingly in the soft diffuse light.

“Okaaaay!” he called back.

 

I took the opportunity to leap out the window and scuttle up the nearest tree. I wasn’t fast enough to escape being seen doing this, but I was fast enough to do some quick arborism to make the branch Mihawk was standing on fall to the forest floor.

 

“Miss, I only want to talk to you!” he called to me, from the forest below.

“I don’t want to sword fight!” I called back. I was at this point as high as I could get in a willow tree, and he was circling the base of it. I was in that little hollow above the trunk, settled just so that from every angle, he would get a view of tree and not me.

 

“I know you don’t want to fight! Please, just- can we talk face to face? Please?” he called up to me.

 

I poked my twitchy bun ears- er, I’d grown my hair out in the past year, and wore it up in messy buns. Not so messy they’d fall down or get in the way, but I can channel my haki into my hair and hear all kinds of shit like I used to be able to and it’s amazing. I also can make them look like my old foxy fox ears, which is probably why he was sniggering when he saw them.

 

“You swear we’re not going to fight?” I said to him, staring at him through the leaves.

 

He was facing away from me, but looking up into the leaves.

 

“Yes- Miss, I swear on my sword, I will not fight you. Please, speak with me?” he said.

 

I slowly poked my head out of the leaves and branches. I climbed down the tree silently. I stood behind the man who shared my face and my eyes. He turned and I stayed behind him. I tugged at his trenchcoat with the fancy purple sleeves. His hat feather went left and I faded right; the color of his pants in sunlight is lilac. Feather whips right, I roll left; he has two belts on his boots, in addition to laces, which seems a bit excessive but he’d know best how to support his footing I suppose. He pulls his head right and down; I leap left and up. I draw my finger along the seafoam colored feather in the brim of his hat. It’s incredibly fluffy and soft, which is not what I was expecting. I land silently as he whips his head up because he felt that.

I should stop fucking with him.

I’ve landed in a raspberry bush and it is painful. There is a hatchling Royal Python morph in the roots of the bush.

 

“Hello, Snake.” says I, wincing as a large thorn digs into my thigh unmercifully.

“I am named Banana, Miss.” says Banana.

“I'm Taffy. What do you call a snake that tells jokes, Miss Banana?” says I.

“A Monty Python, Miss Taffy. If you crossed a snake with a robin, what kind of bird would you get?” says Banana.

“A swallow! Why did the snake laugh so hard she started to cry?” says I, tears starting to roll down my face.

“She thought the joke was hissss-terical. What do snakes wear to the beach?” says Banana, going thbt-thbt-thbt-thbt on the hisssssss.

“Pythongs. Can you think of any more snake jokes?” says I, wiggling my eyebrows.

“I serpently can’t. I can say one thing though.” says Banana.

“What’s that, yis?” says I, nervous.

“You’re my girl, yissssss.” says Banana.

 

I grin. I’ve been waiting for a Snake to say that and mean it- not like the Sea Krait, who said “If I was fifty years younger, you’d have been my girl.” before she died. I feel sad still, a little bit, every time I think of Matcha. Banana is brand new to the world; so am I, mostly. I gently pick Banana up; she curls around my wrist and then lays her head against the pulse point. Dracule Mihawk still has his back to me. I let the bush rustle as I pull myself and Banana and Kusanagi out of the raspberry bush. 

He turns to see me just as I step free of the bush. 

We stare at each other for a long moment.

I’m shorter by maybe three centimeters; and he’s got a stupid mustache. Our eyebrows are the same, and our eye-colors, and the shape of our eyes, and our noses; but his face rests in a frown and mine rests in a smile. Our hair is the same color, and we have the same sideburns, and it does the same fluffy thing in the back at the nape, but mine is longer.

 

“Heyso.” I say.

“Hello.” he says.

 

And then we talked. 

Mostly, I reminded him of his older sister who died- that’s why he went to sea at all, everyone who loved him had died and then he got a family at sea and they died too. Mostly, he just wanted to look at me, and try to remember what his sister looked like. Her name was Sateen.

 

“I’m Taffeta. I wouldn’t mind having a brother, but you’d have to be the older one, I’m much too young to give you much advice, I think.” I say.

“I’m alright with that.” said Mihawk.

 

And that’s how I got an older brother of my own. I’m an Auntie, too, and my niece is positively adorable.

No, really, Dracule Mihawk added me to his family register as a sibling and everything. We’re legally related, now.

It’s… kinda nice, being more than I was, before. Odd.

But nice.

 

Anyway, Gurry met each member of our crew in turn, and made sketches of everyone- captured things you can’t catch just with pictures. He ended up collaborating with Zoro, drew little bits and moments from all our recollections.

 

Marguerite belongs on our crew because he’s a dreamer, always a little splattered with paint; his fur peplum is always scuffed with bright chalk pastels. He’s started wearing long pants, too- leather, like Mab wears, and then denim because he prefers denim, and then denim overalls and light tank tops and short sleeve shirts underneath. Then he switched to aprons over his shirt, and kept the denim pants, went for soft sneakers and thick socks. Finally, he picked denim short shorts and longer lycra undershorts so he can really move and run without chafing. Soft athletic hoodies with no sleeves, and loose denim shorts meant for women so they don’t have pockets and knee length lycra shorts in eyesearing colors and Marzipan coiled around his head like a crown, paintbrushes all stuck through his hair and in his apron pockets more brushes and tubes of paint and a painter's knife held in one of his fingers like a cigar. Grey canvas shoes splattered and splotched with paint and his face is splotched, his hands his arms his legs his face and I want-

Gurry’s hands are bigger than mine. Gurry is bigger than I am, taller; he’s got calluses with paint staining them in weird splotches, paint under the thin skin of his nails and the nails too and I want-

I spend a lot of time watching Gurry paint because I don’t have his eyes. I can’t do that. Gurry… just speaking to him makes my heart all fluttery and my stomach do a little wiggle. He has the biggest, brownest eyes, and sometimes they are full of sadness, but more and more often they’re filled with wonder. I actually work very hard to pay him a normal amount of attention because he’s gorgeous and he just stopped being married. I have to wait.

 

One day, he might look up and look back at me, but- maybe he won’t. Maybe, when I look at him, I won’t feel like this. This is terrible. Feeling like this is terrible. Wanting someone to look at me and knowing that for right now they just can’t, and maybe one day they will but more likely they won’t and- I can hardly stand to feel like this.

 

 

I’ve hissed all this to Banana.  [ Banana ](http://wegetoutside.ca/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/Nicodemus-012-1024x682.jpg) squeezed my wrist in careful comfort, then said I needed to be his friend and just- wait. They might go away, these painful crushing feelings- but they might not. Mostly, when I felt the time was right to move, I needed to move- talk to him, about how I feel.

It’s scary and I don’t want to right now.

Banana said Okay. So long as you do eventually. It’s okay to be scared, so long as you are yourself.

 

Gurry says his snake is named Marzipan. (Boa Hancock’s snake is named Salami. It’s a trend.)

 

Gurry took up archery in an attempt to understand his ex-wife. Says she was always gone so long, he wanted to understand who she was. Yellow Tulip “Yellow Twobolt” is a Kuja, but not a famous campaigner, one of the sailors. His actual weapon is the war fan; he likes to tip it with poison when he knows he needs to win his fight. He likes dancing with them too, and he and I can dance together beautifully. I like Gurry, but he’s still sad about Twobolt, so I’ll wait. There’s a reason Marzipan chose him. There’s a reason Banana chose me. (Sanji tells it like this; Marzipan is made of almonds, and so is cyanide. Pythons kill their prey by biting to get a grip and then hugging it to death with their mighty coils.)

 

Everyone on Amazon Lily is named after flowers- it’s the middle name that belongs to the person alone, or the nickname. Says that before he met me, Gurry didn’t have any kind of nickname at all- everyone just called him Marguerite Who Married Tulip and has No Child to Raise. I decided that was far too much to say every time I meant Gurry, so I started calling him Gurry.

Gurry wasn’t really accepted, back on Amazon Lily.

By my accepting of him, and taking him away- giving him a path to follow his dream with; I was Unaccepted too.

Even if I wanted to participate in the holy days down in the Valley, no one would want to with me. And if any of those people tried to touch me as I am now, I would almost certainly kill someone.

 

So. I’m Fae- not necessarily Skuan, but I am Fae. The Fae don’t celebrate holidays just in joyful, fun ways; we celebrate them, or maybe a better word is observe… Fae observe the holy days with more than just the fun things you want to do. The Harvest festivals are usually all about fertility- so, fucking, fornication, and lovemaking are very big parts of every celebration.

It’s the same for the Fae- go through a village during Beltane, and you’ll be groped and kissed and caressed to near-distraction.

That’s not all we do; not all the Fae do. For the Fae, a virgin is someone who has never been a primary participant in the ceremonies that Turn the Great Wheel of the Year; it’s nothing to do with sex at all. I am a virgin, in that regard; so is Gurry, even though he was married. Fertility cannot exist without Sacrifice- and so, for every Sabbat, which is what the holy days are called in formal language, the celebration is as it always is- drinking, dancing, merriment, fornication- but we still have sacrifices, too.

In the old days, we would pick a man or woman by lottery, depending on when in the year it was, and we would Hunt them down in the Wild Places; animal sacrifice.

Humans are animals.

Fae used to sacrifice animals- we still do sacrifice animals. But only on very special occasions.

Mostly, it comes down to blood- the Wheels of Time are greased with blood. Specifically, life’s blood- women usually give their menstruations as a sacrifice, nowadays. And, as the main punishment for all Lawbreaking in Skua is still the capital one- usually by throat-slitting, although beheading is starting to become popular- men tend to sacrifice that way, by volunteering to use the knife or the axe.

 

Gurry lives with me now. We cut another cubicle into the cave wall for him, and helped him hunt down skins and things to make his bed more comfortable. When he started having the nightmares, I started sleeping in bed with him- he got so used to having… not necessarily someone in the same bed with him, but… I don’t know.

It helped him, so I did it- so now, I just have to endure the excruciating sexual frustration of waking up to his thick, callused fingers stroking and delving into my pussy and not  _ say _ anything because he does it in his sleep and it’s not bothersome or weird- or I don’t think it is- but he just… dick.

How thick is his dick?

It’s thick enough I actually don’t think it’ll fit without some careful manipulations- and even then, it might take a few times to make it enjoyable. And he gets aroused over nothing- the wind. Water on his face. Sneezing more than twice in a row.

Nothing.

VERY FRUSTRATION.

It’s a very pretty dick and  _ I want it to fuck me into the bare dirt I WANT- _

I have. To wait. For him.

Rushing bad.

 

One day, it was maybe a week until Beltane, and the heat had started to come back in the worst way. Neither me or Gurry really liked wearing all that much in the way of clothing normally, but as Beltane approached… Mab says that everything and everyone has magic, and during certain parts of the year, the magic in the sky and the land and the sea is very strong. Strong enough to make people just a little more willing to participate in festivals than they normally would be.

I- finally, one day, I couldn’t take it, and I told Gurry about my feelings for him.

 

And he said that he wasn’t ready for a new relationship, and that he might not ever be ready- but, um, if I wouldn’t read more into it, we could do the Paired Ritual of Beltane together?

To which I replied, that’s exactly why I told you how I feel- so I wouldn’t read more into it, because you’re aware of how I feel now and… yes, I’d like that a lot.

 

So, we did. The position we used was the Lotus, where our legs sort of fold over each other? It’s an upright face to face one, and since the Mother-Goddess is stoking herself up for the year to come, orgasmic shouting is encouraged. So we were both a little bit deaf for about a week and a half after the Beltane Rites.

Twobolt must have been goddamn  _ numb _ , to think that Gurry doesn’t know the business of being a man and giving a woman pleasure- fah, I do not understand cultural expectations.

 

Bryony called and asked for my help, and I said okay. So. I’m going to eat. And then I’m going to scrub down, and fly to Baltigo Saltflats. Shouldn’t take more than a few days. Then, when I return, I shall learn finesse, and aerial fighting and maneuvers. Yis, it is so- I learned to fly under severe internal pressure. I shall learn to dance under even moreso.

I’m positively exploding with excitement. It’s- I asked Elder Nyon. She said that the proper time to wait on Amazon Lily between marriage or courting or even considering such is seven months and that Gurry had always been a little more sensitive than most so give him an extra two. Elder Nyon said that misfits have to stick together; I said that there’s nothing misfit about either of us.

I think we’re both right, on further reflection.

 

* * *

 

I think about Twobolt a little less every day. I don’t feel the urge to talk to her anymore. I think I’ve finally realized the person I would be talking to isn’t the person who lives in my heart but- someone who snuck out in the middle of the night every time she came home and robbed me of all my faith in people.

For a long time, I hated her. I couldn’t understand why she would leave when I needed her most. When I decided to change and go with her so I wouldn’t- she didn’t want that, either. I just couldn’t understand why she couldn’t do a little of what I did for her. I was there, I was always there- for holding and reassurance and encouragement and fucking and you fucked me up, Yellow Tulip.

I don’t have to stay here anymore- I never wanted to stay here, really; she did. I was looking forward to raising our children but you decided that you didn’t want any and what was I supposed to do then?

She couldn’t even give me a nickname, like Taffy did as soon as we met. I like being a Gurry. Yellow Tulip Twobolt couldn’t even consider that calling me Marguerite who blah blah blah was too much to say when she meant me, and call me something. I’d have taken Margo from her, or Rita, or anything other than Husband.

 

Divorce seems like such an ugly word- it’s… painful. It’s a legal change, and the worst of it is… I think the worst thing is when I realized that I couldn’t stay at the house we’d lived in together because it’s in her name. Most of the things we own are in her name. Really, the only thing that wasn’t in her name were the things I bought for myself, not the house. I packed up my paints and brushes, my roll of canvass and my painting knife. She saw my leaving; decided- I don’t know. Marmalade took the death blow for me. I took my bag, took my snake, and I fucking ran to where Taffy always goes and comes from when she returns from the Wild. It’s not like there’s anywhere in the village I can go.

After- that- it was a simple decision to join my Captain’s crew and just… quietly decide to never come back. Spoke to Elder Nyon, who always does tend to treat men more equally to women. Said I wasn’t coming back. She was sad, but accepting; wrote my name and my fate down in the Book of Lives. Always did like her more than most. Don’t rightly like it much in the village, otherwise.

I like Taffy, though. It’ll be nice, sailing with a friend. It- wouldn’t be right, to look to her for more- not yet. She smells like laundry soap and blood, like fresh flowers and sugar and I want to lick her everywhere but I have to  _ wait _ . It’s- even though I’m Unaccepted, I’m still me. I’m still Gurry from the Wharf-side of Amazonia, I’m not just gonna- I’m not going to  _ forget _ who I  **am** , or where I come from.

Still, with all that said...

I ain’t never coming back to Amazon Lily. Not ever. Maybe if Captain wants to?

Even then, I probably won’t get off the boat.


	26. 24:00; The Loves and Hatreds of Our Frightful Home

 

It feels like it’s been some time since I’ve done this. Which is strange, since I’ve been at every Famband- I’m mostly responsible for getting everyone here, since Ace still hasn’t quite figured out how to do long distances with passengers- he can do line-of-sight Flickers, but he hasn’t quite figured out how to do the kind of long distance thing I can do. And he still can’t do much more than Flick back and forth across the deck with a toddler. As I recall from my brief study of astrophysics, he should be able to go farther than I can, at an ever so slightly faster pace- but then again, my top speed is the speed of belief.

I do tend to fade into the background at familial events; with the rotating guest list and all, I suppose I feel most comfortable not being at the center of attention. This is not new, but- I could come up with a justification, I just don’t want to.

Still, today the Moby feels… different, somehow. There’s a strange sense of anticipation, almost like a storm I can’t see is about to explode. All my siblings are here, of course- but so is pretty much the entire crew. The only missing member is Thousand Sunny, but we’ve a good half year to go before we can reunite in Sabaody. This is one of the very rare moments when we’re all together like this- I do hope nothing happens. Aside from the normal Grandline Bullshit, of course.

Training continues apace- I’ve nearly completed my own retraining and Taffy’s training too, as much as I can actually train her. Her wings are somehow as fast as a gyrfalcon’s, as maneuverable as a raven’s, as sturdy as a petrel’s, and as silent as an owl’s. She can see and smell far beyond the normal range, which meant I actually had to talk to Sanji and Chopper about training her senses- or rather, retraining her senses. Great fun, of course, but also quite a lot of work; not just for her, either. I do love a good challenge.

 

 

Flight starts, at it’s most basic, with being able to lift yourself into the air. Following that, it’s a matter of conditioning- not just your flight muscles and nervous system, though that does play a large part. No, mostly it comes down to breathing, blood pressure, and strength- not just of the body, but of the mind.

There are different theories on exactly how Fae breathe. Doctors are still studying the process; as far as I understand, Fae respiration is quite a bit different from the other tribes of humans. These differences are adaptations for flight and for singing, a Fae’s two main attributes that define them as different from the other tribes. Each tribe has such an attribute: the Tallfolk have physical strength and enormous size; Landfolk are adaptable and hardy; Seafolk breathe underwater and swim like fish; Longfolk have incredible flexibility and passion; Minkfolk are sympathetic and grow stronger the more they have to protect; Fae, or Skyfolk, can fly to attack or escape and sing to attract or repel; and Automata, or Metalfolk, do not die unless they are killed, and they do not forget anything. Each tribe can, of course, intermarry and interbreed, because we’re all human; the attributes of our respective tribes will express themselves more or less strongly depending on a multitude of factors, most of them poorly understood.

The two that are generally considered most important, are Nature, and Nurture.

The nature of a person is their Line- there are things in a man’s blood that will pose dangers to him, and no amount of personal growth or training will change that. Cancer does not care who you are; nor does brittle bones, or arthritis. Nature is also what determines certain attributes of a person’s physical form- their eyes, their hair, the color of their skin, their blood typing, how tall they can become, how easy it is for them to gain and lose fat, and so on.

Nurture is less well understood- but generally speaking, it’s not just the environment in which a person is raised, but in which a person continues to live. 

There comes a point in a person’s life when they have lived beyond the sum total of the time their parents had to raise them; at that point, it is their own choices in life which choose which of their natural attributes become more than just talent, but not so simple as skill; instinct is the word I hear bandied about most often. Perhaps that’s right- nature merely instills the potential for various instincts, but it’s how you grow that makes them good for anything. 

For example, it doesn’t matter that Bryony has all the same eye-coordination I do, she doesn’t use high speed movements; her attack style is all close in and high strength. Which is not to say she can’t see with high speed eyes like me, Mark, and Taffy- she can- she just doesn’t need to, so she tends to disregard or ignore what her eyes tell her until she can’t. Which is why she got involved with Sabo at all in a sexual way- I probably should have told her he wasn’t right for her, but there are some things you have to learn on your own. Fuckboys are a gift.

 

Anyway, I was thinking about respiration. Fae lungs are relatively small in proportion to their body size when compared to the other tribes; only about half the size, as I recall. Most lungs in the human tribes are made up of millions of tiny balloons, called alveoli, which expand and contract as the person breathes. Seafolk have an additional set of gills which are arranged like feathers, usually along the ribcage, the neck, and down the throat, but that’s not important right now.

Fae lungs, on the other hand, are not elastic; they don’t change size when a Fae breathes. Fae lungs are composed of air chambers whose walls are made of a thin layer of squamous epithelium surrounded by capillaries. That’s thin flat skin which is often found in areas requiring quick molecule exchange via diffusion or filtration- there's some all over the body, often forming the lining of just about everything. 

Specialized elastic structures called air sacs are connected to the lungs and act like furnace bellows to draw air through the lungs; very much like a bellows forces air through the ductwork of a forge. As air passes through the ductwork of the lungs, oxygen and nitrogen in the air is exchanged for carbon dioxide and various other gases depending on tribal mix; as I recall, Lanfolk tend to breathe out helium, and the other tribes breath out other noble gases, excepting Oganesson, which was only recently synthesized. I personally breathe out a mixture of helium, argon, and neon- in addition to the carbon dioxide and excess nitrogen- but everyone’s a little different.

Each Fae has two sets of air sacs; the caudal, and the cranial. The caudal air sacs include the abdominal air sac and the caudal thoracic air sacs. The cranial air sacs include the cervical air sac (that’s the neck), clavicular air sac, and the cranial thoracic air sacs. Air sacs even extend into the bones, but unlike in birds, Fae air sacs in bone are microscopic. However, the cavity of a Fae bone can still be partially filled with air sacs, thus significantly lightening the overall body structure of a Fae. 

When this filling with air sacs thing happens, the proper term is pneumatization; Fae who fly have a more extensive system of air sacs, including more bones that can be pneumatized. Sanji can lift me with one finger when I’m fully pneumatized; so can Nami. I am not a heavy woman; even when I’m less pneumatized, I only weigh about one hundred and ninety pounds, and I’m as broad as Zoro and maybe a few inches- centimeters- shorter than Franky, now.

It is also for this reason that various Skuan Animals, when killed, reveal themselves to be along the same size as most other animals- even the biggest, most terrifying animals are, more than likely, full of hot air and maybe a third smaller than they appeared in life.

 

Compression or expansion of the air sacs occurs when the size of the body cavity in which they are housed changes. Cavity size is controlled by muscle movement. Every exercise Taffy got frustrated in doing as I instructed her in the Sky Arena, as she calls it- all of them were conditioning exercises to increase the pneumatization of her bones and the extent to which she could expand her air sacs.

The largest of the air sacs, the abdominal air sac, lines the inside of the abdominal cavity and surrounds the abdominal organs like a coat. As a Fae becomes more active, they require more oxygen. Increased movement forces a greater degree of compression and expansion of the body cavities, and in turn inflates and deflates more of the air sacs. Training the Six Powers doesn’t make it possible to fly- it forces the growth of air sacs, so far as I can tell. There’s been enough interbreeding in the Tribes that all humans have some air sacs- Fae just tend to have the most.

By learning and perfecting each of the various movements, air sacs proliferate, not only becoming more numerous, but more efficient and better able to deal with dangerous gaseous substances. I found my half-crazy notes on the old scroll I got at the Twin Capes; reread the scroll itself too, and copied it down new and nice, with clearer diagrams and animal comparisons and everything.

Here’s how it breaks down: Geppou, Soru, Rankyaku, Shigan, and Tekkai are all muscle isolation exercises meant to build up the presence of air sacs in the body, as well as strengthen the already present sacs, particularly in the bones. Kami-e is a percursor to gliding techniques, which is a controlled falling method that can be mistaken for flight; Bryony is really really really good at it. I’m okay; Mark’s good; Taffy’s better; Bryony is the best at it. Six King Pistol is a weaponized exhale; it tires people out because they off-gas everything in their lungs and air sacs, not just their normal carbon dioxide heavy gaseous mixture. It’s basically weaponized hyperventilation; I can do it, I just think it’s fucking stupid.

I got derailed- let my try that again. Increased movement forces a greater degree of compression and expansion of the body cavities, and in turn inflates and deflates more of the air sacs. This not only forces more air through the lungs, but also makes the Fae’s relative weight lighter. When a Fae takes off for flight, gliding, or bounding, the exaggerated movement of their wings creates an air current which fills their air sacs, including those within the bones, and makes the Fae light enough to fly. The air current created is referred to as “flight wind”. The abdominal muscles are largely responsible for breathing while at rest; it’s for this reason a Fae on the ground or otherwise moving with muscles other than its flight muscles can appear like another tribe member.

 

Considering the meat and potatoes of flight, beyond simple mechanical practice, but the actual physics of flight… it goes like this. Fairies like me who fly can easily right themselves- as proper flight posture has my spine facing the stars- and maneuver tight turns while flying. Each of my four wings is controlled by a separate set of muscles and nerves, which gives me a very precise kind of control over their movement and my flight. I tend to actually have a very unpredictable flight- the patterns I flap my wings in dictate my attack vectors but once I retrained seriously, I stopped having to consciously think about their implementation. I’ve actually battled enough that I don’t have to think about how I’m going to attack, either- I just do it. When I’m flying just because, I’ll hover for a bit, and every so often make a quick, sharp turn. I actually have a full range of rotation in my wings, like in my hips and shoulders; I can also physically bend and wiggle the wings themselves. I don’t actually need to use my hands to sew, I can do it with just my wings.

By adjusting their orientation, I can change the aerodynamic forces acting on each of my four wings. I can also change the direction in which I flap my wings- known technically as my stroke plane. I can adjust the stroke plane orientation of each wing independent of the others.

The most detailed drawings I’ve done in my Six Powers Training Book are actually of the flight drawings… like dance variations? Those. Flight variations meant for people with wings like mine, or for people with wings like Taffy’s. I’ve made simplified drawings of unsteady airflow mechanisms- invisible vortices of air that produce the lift required to hover and flit through the air. You’d think that if a Cherubim would simply beat their wings fast and hard enough that it can push enough air downward to keep their body afloat. Lift production is not so simple.

For example, as the wings are pulled forward and down, tiny vortices form over the leading and trailing edges and then merge into a single large vortex, forming a low-pressure area that provides lift. In addition, the lift must be further enhanced by pitching the wings upwards, as they are flapped. I had to pay Nami a lot to find all the words I needed for talking about atmospheric phenomena and I regret nothing.

There’s another aerodynamic trick to flying like a Fairy; hummingbirds do it all the time. Not only must positive lift be generated on the downstroke, but also on the upstroke by inverting the wings. As the leading edge begins moving backwards, the wing beneath it rotates around so the top of the wing becomes the bottom and the bottom becomes the top. This allows the wing to form a leading edge vortex as it moves backward generating positive lift. The downstroke produces most of the thrust but that is only because a Cherubim or Fairy puts more energy into it. The upstroke produces only thirty percent as much lift but it takes only thirty percent as much energy; thus, the upstroke is equally as aerodynamically efficient as the more powerful downstroke.

Thus, the codified Humming Style was born.

However, this is not the only style of flight. Cherubim’s natural style generates almost all of the necessary lift on the downstroke. They pull in their wings towards their bodies to reduce the amount of negative lift they produce while flapping upward. It’s honestly more like swimming than anything else- thus, the Swimming Style. There’s also Gliding and Bounding, but- I’m thinking of something else now. I’m actually thinking of breath, because that’s really where all styles of movement come from- the breath.

There are many theories about the path which air takes in the Fae respiratory system. It is a subject that doctors are still researching with help from the Charnel Workers Office. One of the very simplified theories suggests that a breath of air is drawn through the trachea and mesobronchus into the posterior air sacs (meaning towards the back of the body; both the abdominal and caudal thoracic are present in the post and ante portions of the body) when chest muscles draw the ribs forward and lower the sternum. Upon expiration, air is forced from the posterior air sacs into the lungs where gas exchange takes place. When the bird takes a second breath, the air in the lungs is sucked into the cranial air sacs- caudal thoracic, cervical, and clavicular. The cranial air sacs act as a holding chamber which provides a small back flow of air into the lungs during expirations. The second expiration forces the air in the cranial air sacs out through the trachea. This airflow through the Fae’s respiratory system is mostly a unidirectional circular path which requires two breaths to complete. The small amount of back flow from the cranial air sacs during expiration provides the lungs with a constant flow of air. Constant airflow supplies Fae with more oxygen from the air than is possible for most humans to obtain; training in the Six Powers only enhances what is already there and improves the overall structure- as far as I know, there’s a hard limit for how many you can actually have. Of all my siblings, Gable has the most, followed by Sisko, then Del, then me. It is this adaptation to breathing that is necessary for both a high metabolic rate, and for flight.

 

I know why I’m so concerned about breath. Danelphe is breathing strangely.

 

Hm. Consider the facts, Mab.

Dana has an irregular period. She has on average, two to six periods per year; she’s not like Granny, who is basically like clockwork. Fae with working ovaries, uteruses, and vaginas don’t really have menopause, of course- but still, Dana is used to having maybe no periods for months and months, then two in one month. Therefore, lack of menstruation wouldn’t be a signal for them that “hey, I’m pregnant”. It’s easy to mistake the light spotting of egg implantation for a light menstruation. While it's technically not possible to menstruate during pregnancy, many people do experience spotting during their pregnancies and end up mistaking it for their period. Additionally, people who conceive close to the time they would normally be getting their periods often have what is called "breakthrough bleeding," because their bodies haven't fully adjusted to being pregnant yet. Dana often has spotting or light periods, so she might just think everything is normal.

All of her regular symptomatology is irregular. Most likely, though, if there’s a fetus present it’s putting out a very low dose of the pregnancy hormone human chorionic gonadotropin (hCG). That hormone is essentially how the fetus communicates its needs, so if the fetus isn’t emitting much of it, the brooding person probably won’t feel much hungrier or more sick to their stomach than they normally would. Unfortunately this is also why most babies born from- they’re called cryptic pregnancies; cryptic babies are usually underweight.

However- Dana eats a pregnancy positive diet. It’s high in calcium, folic acid, iron, and protein. Lots of leafy green vegetables would account for the folic acid; they eat bones and sunbathe regularly, accounting for calcium and vitamin D, which is needed for calcium absorption among other things- and that’s not considering the yogurts, cheeses, whole sardines, and kale; they eat a bit more than double the necessary iron needed daily, due to anemia and habit- pugnacity runs in our family, after all, and they still get in an occasional scrap with Granuna- and of course, all the citrus they eat, to aid in iron absorption; and of course, protein isn’t really a problem. Tofu, fish, eggs, the occasional bit of goat, chicken, and quail; game meats, too.

She doesn’t drink coffee or eat chocolate; she doesn’t like tuna, swordfish, shark, king mackerel, and tilefish; she doesn’t drink very much alcohol, mostly cider if she drinks at all. And she wouldn’t eat the foods that carry listeriosis or toxoplasmosis either...

 

I’ve been in labor seven times. With all of my babies I didn’t experience normal contractions, like is outlined in books; instead I felt like I was having the worst menstrual cramps I had ever had. It was also more like- it was very intense, and it was almost all in my lower back. All of the muscles inside my lower back would begin to seize up every contraction; it was kind of like the muscles were twisting harder and harder until it became almost unbearable, and then it would slowly subside. After my waters broke is when the real pain started- more of a tightening that got worse and worse until it peaked, then dropped off. If I could have had this particular pain once an hour or even once every fifteen minutes, it would have been more tolerable. The fact that as soon as you get through one contraction another is right behind- that’s what really wears a person down.

Most importantly of all, I know the smell of amniotic fluid. It’s not urine; it doesn’t have that piss smell. It smells almost like honey mixed with bleach, or semen from someone who doesn’t eat heavy foods… and it’s coming from Dana right now.

Aw, hell.

 

So Dana is staring at the wet patch slowly growing from underneath her with a strange expression, and I’m standing in front of her. There’s a pinard in my hand and the rest of the party hasn’t noticed me or what I’m doing. Dana has, because she doesn’t miss anything.

 

“Need something, Mab?” said Dana, embarrassed.

“I need to check the sounds of your guts, Dana. I think your amniotic sac just broke.” I said.

“What.” they said.

“Yup. It doesn’t smell like piss, does it?” I said.

“N-no, but- aren’t I a little too old for that?” they said.

“Fae with working female parts don’t get menopause, Dana. That’s why we’re known as Eternally Young. Lift your shirt, please.” I said.

“Um. Sure...?” they said.

 

I pressed the listing horn to my Dana’s womb. Sounds like 1and2and3and4and1and2and3and4, it’s a very fast beat; I’d know it anywhere. I could go into all the particulars but Dana’s hands just dug into the wood of the bench with a creak and I need to check some things.

 

“So you’re pregnant. And your labor just intensified. So you’re having a baby. Like, right now.” I said.

“Um.” they said.

“What do you want to do?” I said.

“I- I want them. The- baby. Babies?” they said.

“Okay. There’s at least one, and we’ll go along from there. Do you want to talk to the sire?” I said.

“Y-yes, that’s probably for the best. Ooh.” they said.

 

So Dana was on the little wooden bench right by the door, ostensibly enjoying the  [ lovely music ](https://youtu.be/T5ALPzS0QfQ) that my sisters were all dancing to because Del brought a bunch of records from his side of things and we decided to have a listening and dance party this Songsday. Ace is dancing with his daughters and Spadey is dancing with Ace’s son; Nami and Zoro are slow dancing with each other. Delilah is curled up with Ace’s dog,  [ Mucha ](http://pre11.deviantart.net/2b6f/th/pre/f/2010/126/3/c/wolf_shark_by_bockom.png) , having a nap; and Cordula is curled up with Delilah, also napping. Heh. Dogfish. The rest of the Pineapple Brood are around here somewhere- ah, Polo is pretending to be a parrot on his Pop-pop’s shoulder again, to Popstache’s amusement.

I carefully maneuver myself and Danelphe through the dancing crowd, past everyone’s wild gyrations and cheerful dancing. Whitebeard, Marco, and Diamond Jozu are all drinking- Marco with a tankard of what Easy’s starting to call a Marco Polo Blue. It’s a big tankard of hot Black Tonic no. 7, a double shot of heavy coconut cream, and Easy’s specialty blue sugar, colored with spirulina. It’s this lovely blue-green color, and it tastes fine, so.

It turns out that Marco doesn’t have chronic depression, he has insomnia- which can definitely lead to depression if left untreated. Part of the treatment plan his doctor came up with involves a lot of Black Tonic Coffee that he just drinks all day. Marco drinks a lot of coffee. I won’t claim to understand how that works, but- he’s already looking more… bouncy? Lively? Something has improved.

Whitebeard drinks quite a bit less coffee, but quite a bit more Troupple Cider. Troupples are a kind of trout-like fish that lives in the leaves of apple trees, sometimes pears, rarely figs; they like to spit their ichor at shiny things. Ezra commissioned a special hat from me and that’s how I know how Troupple Cider uses troupple ichor. I also know how to do the Troupple dances, but that’s another thing entirely.

As far as the taste goes, neither Easy or I actually like it all that much; Troupple Cider is fermented troupple ichor with a nose of stale bread because of the yeast, ocean water and smoke because of the kombu, with just a hint of apple blossoms. It’ll toughen you right up, but that taste- ugh. It does make you just a tad more healthy than normal; Whitebeard loves it.

I personally love her aromatic Hardy Punch; strong enough to almost wake the dead, zesty and zingy and spectacularly good. Makes you more likely to get back up from a death blow, and damages surrounding enemies. I basically like everything she makes that tastes sweet or otherwise delightful; so I like what Dana likes too.

Dana, when she drinks, likes to drink Mending Mead. It’s a honey based alcohol with a strange mixture of herbs and spices, and it’s photosensitive so it’s usually wrapped up in bandages to keep it away from light. It tastes like a fully blooming herb garden and is sweet to very dry, depending on when you open the bottle from time of bottling (as noted on the label).

I’m thinking about alcohol and drinks because Dana is having a very quiet conversation with Whitebeard- I can hear her calling him Eddy and I would have died happily just thinking of him as Whitestache Popbeard but I guess he has his own name and he’s calling them Elfe and ARGH ARGH ARGH OLD PEOPLE SEX FUCK- no, fuck it, they’re having a baby. Of course they had sex, and nevermind the particulars.

Get over it, Mab.

Aha, they’ve gotten to the particulars finally, I can tell because of how Whitebeard Popstache is sitting and touching our Dana’s womb. Aaaaand now he’s crying. Marco is staring straight into nothing with the same sort of passion a corpse would have because he can hear everything (as can I) and he doesn’t have quite the same skill I do at ignoring everything that doesn’t matter.

I take a step forwards and give Marco a firm pat on the shoulder in passing, before attending to what matters.

 

“Ah, Dana; if you want to have the baby here, you need to be wherever you feel safest. Where do you feel safe?” I said.

“Eh?” they said.

“The most important thing about having a baby  _ isn’t  _ having a midwife pair who knows what to do; honestly, midwives are just there for encouragement and to get at the business- it’s all at an awkward angle, you know?” I said.

“Oh, sure.” they said as Whitebeard cringed.

“Mostly, the important thing is for you to relax and feel safe while your body gets on with it. This is one of the things bodies are just built to do; doesn’t matter who the person is. Dana, where do you feel safe?” I said, mostly for Whitebeard’s benefit.

“So, what- everything gets turned right and then… whoosh?” he said.

“Like going into harbor or catching the prevailing wind- put everything right, wait for it, let go; and there it is.” I said.

 

Both of them have relaxed at this point; I guess I found the right thing to say. It really does happen fast when everything is put right; onetwothree baby.

 

“Thrice an’ I’ll ask no more-  **Elphame Morgan, where do you feel safest on this ship?** ” I said.

“Here.” they said, shrugging back into Whitebeard’s side.

 

I can actually feel my gaze go from exasperated right to paintstripping.

I look up at Whitebeard. I look past him and up at the ceiling, and say a bluestreak prayer to the goddesses. There’s now a  [ concentric mandala in blue ](https://importanceofyoga.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/Large-Round-Lotus-Flower-Mandala-Tapestry-100-Cotton-Outdoor-Beach-Roundie-Hippie-Gypsy-Boho-Throw-Towel-Tablecloth-Hanging-Ocean-Blue-Turquoise-Floral-Circle-DesignShape-72-0.jpg) across the entire ceiling of the Whitebeard’s music room on the Moby. I’ve never been quite so exasperated in my life because I know where this is going and I don’t like it one bit but it’s not about me, so.

 

“Edward Newgate; are you okay with this?” I said, staring at Whitebeard.

 

I’ve read his wanted poster; I know his name.

 

“Um. Yes?” he said.

“Okay.” I said.

 

I looked over at the room and saw Chopper, doing a funky whole body wiggle with Taffy and Kusanagi and Banana. Welp. Here we fucking go.

 

“TAFFY, C’MERE- bring your bag, too!” I called.

 

She quickly trotted over. I, meanwhile, pulled out a special kind of midwifery umbrella- it’s basically a collapsible tent with a specially made set of obscuring tassels around the rim.

 

“Okay. Here’s how this is going to go; Edward, I’m going to clamp this to your totally-not-a-throne basically between your knees; and Elphame, you’re going to go under it. Edward, you can support them with your hands but you are not allowed to watch. Taffy, you’re going to monitor Elphame’s heart rate and pain levels; if things get particularly rough, I’ll have you administer an epidural.” I said.

“-Elphame yis having a baby?” said Taffy.

“Yes, right here and now. Their contractions are in the transitory stage, I can tell by their breathing- Fae tribe births are fast anyway.” I say, clipping the visual screen in place and ushering Dana under it.

 

Once they’re under, I carefully remove their phoenix feather capelet, which is practically speaking, ruined- at the least, it’ll have to be retired now. Any Work item that gets amniotic fluids on it has to be retired, it’s- tradition? I guess? And if my Dana is anything, they’re traditional. Next comes their pants, a blue so dark they’re black; tied on with bows and ties at hip and ankle. Those can just be washed, they’re just clothes; and my Dana, unlike Granny, doesn’t wear underwear. As in panties.

Unroll the dropcloth, pan and swaddles are ready to go. Clean hot water, towels, tools- check. Taffy washed her hands, and is ready to go. Okay, so we’re doing this.

I palpitate their womb and shift them into a squat. Edward’s massive hand comes into the calm and quiet space, and I carefully maneuver his palm, thumb, and fingers into a configuration that shouldn’t be too tough on him but will also give Dana all the support they need.

First blood goes to Dana who has dug her blackclaws deep through the thick calluses of Whitebeard’s hand. He grunts, then starts humming.

I check dilation; eight centimeters. Just a bit more.

 

“Just a bit more, Elphame.” I said.

“WHAT THE GODDAMN HELL DOES THAT MEAN?” they said.

“It means you’re not ready yet, keep breathing and suffering.” I said.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?!? WHY DOES ANYONE DO THIS SHIT?” they said.

“Because there’s at least one live baby at the end, Elphame.” I said.

 

Taffy is a pair of big yellow eyes and bright white wings with tiny black specks on them. Her snake friend, Banana, is coiled around her forehead like a vise or a circlet, eyes widened with terror. Kusanagi is carefully winding swaddling cloths around the self heating kettle with the hot water with shaking hands. They set out my tools as I carefully hypnotize Dana into a sort of ludic swearing and chanting fest to keep her breathing steady. The air turns blue and heavy and thick and swirls of haki-laced fury start to leak out of the birthing tent and splatter into the air in jagged scratches because Dana gets enraged when they’re in pain and it’s not a Devil Fruit because Aunt Zippy did this exact same thing when she accidentally put a knife through her right foot when I was thirteen. This is just a Fae Thing, I guess.

I mean, I literally just swore a blue design onto the ceiling, it’s just something Fae people can do.

To his credit, Eddy Newgate manages to hold his arm very steady as Elphe Morgan’s fury stabs swirling blue into his skin. Then Elphame hits ten centimeters and the first baby comes.

 

“Breathe. Breathe- Push!” I say.

“AAAARGH AAAAAAAAAARGH FUCK YOU FUCK YOU EDWARD FUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUU!” they screamed as Edward hissed above us all and the first star was stabbed into his arm in swirling blue lace patterns of- I’ll call it ink. Classic blue ink. I wash the baby clean, which quickly starts to cry and it breaks Elphame’s heart right then and there.

 

“WHAT IS IT?” they said.

“It’s a girl.” I said.

“OH- OH I SHOULD NAAAAAAAAAAARGH-” they said.

“Save your names until the end, please.” I said.

 

Elphame’s Physicalized Suffering digs under Edward’s skin and traces lace patterns over his muscles and the knobs of his bones. Two more babies come out by the time it reaches his elbow, and as the blue snakes up his arm, more stars bloom. Four babies across his forearm and simple lace. The Suffering in the air gets thicker and bluer; I know Del added some of her special Blue into it because the color of it changes and oh wow, that really is a lovely color, nice of Del to offer her support focus. The babies keep coming; five, six. Three girls, three boys; final girl breech. Not enough stretch to get everything out. Okay.

 

 

**"HOW MANY DECADES… NO- HOW MANY CENTURIES... HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN, I WONDER, SINCE I’VE SHED BLOOD? SO, THEN, WHAT IS IT YOU’RE DOING, MAB? DEPENDING ON YOUR ANSWER, YOU MAY NOT COME OUT OF THIS UNHARMED, YOU CHILD!”**

**“I’m cleaning and cutting the perineum so you’ve got a bit more room on the next push.”**

**“-BEST NOT TO DRIVE MY BLOOD PRESSURE ANY HIGHER, MAB. YOU’LL AT LEAST WANT SOME TIME TO REGRET YOUR ACTIONS, AYE?”**

**“I’M GLAD YOUR DEATH THREATS ARE REGAINING THEIR NORMAL VIGOR, THOUGH PERHAPS YOU COULD RESTRAIN YOURSELF TO MERELY CURSING ME OUT ON THE NEXT CONTRACTION?”**

**“I’LL DO MY MOTHERFUCKING BEST- OW OW OW OW-”**

**“DON’T MOVE-”**

**“FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK THIS FUCK EVERYTHING OW OW OW** **_FUCK YOUR FINGERS-_ ** **”**

**“** **_DON’T FUCKING MOVE DAMMIT-_ ** **”**

**“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH-”**

**“** **_OKAY-READY-PUSH-PUSH-PUSH-PUSH-PUSH-PUSH-PUSH-_ ** **”**

 

And that’s the last one; watch for placentae. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven whole placentae good done BLOOD? No just seep, it’s fine. Put Taffy on it.

I clean everything up, wrap Elphame in a beautiful green and  [ pink saree ](http://saree.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/xImage-3-4.jpg.pagespeed.ic.eBV6tRBnNI.jpg) and tuck her babies in their swaddles into her wings and her wings into the saree’s work and tuck the pallu beneath her and then Elphame sees my face and counts her children and the Suffering digs into Edward’s skin racing from one arm and onto the other and he groans and my Dana howls with anguish and I’m sorry but I- can’t- help- right now. The Suffering is gone from the air, drawn into Edward’s skin in delicate blue-black  [ lace designs ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/3d/3b/52/3d3b5235982d3e3749fbafbfc5ecbb27.jpg) ; from wrist to shoulder.

I- deep breath the smell of blood on flowers in- I can’t be here right now. I’m having a flashback I  _ cannot _ be here right now.

I stop.

 

“Taffy, I’m having a flashback. Handle this. I’m g-going to go- I’ll try not to hurt anyone, just- handle this. Taffeta. Stay with them and make sure there are no complications.” I say.

“Aye. Mab...” she says.

“ [ Saudade ](https://youtu.be/on9lKHZc5jA) . Nothing to be done about it, Taff.” I say.

“Ah.” she says.

 

I nod, and then I walk out, Blink from spot to spot, blinkblinkblink  **stop** . I stay where I am. I am curled up on a shelf with the towels in the communal bathroom. I can’t stop crying. Sanji finds me.

He tugs me out of the shelf, and carries me away- out, and then up. I calm down eventually, and see we’re on the very tip of the flagpole. I slowly unfold from my painful tangle, stretch languidly in his arms and rest my feet on top of his. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to have a cry like that.

Deep breath in and I’m light as a feather- a single feather. I look at Sanji. He looks at me.

We can have an entire conversation without saying or thinking a single word- just a look will suffice.

Sanji lets me go and I fly.

 

I fly and I fly and I fly. Then, I fly back to Sanji.

 

“Dance with me?” I say.

“Of course.” he says.

 

And then we both  [ step into the sky ](https://youtu.be/mmCnQDUSO4I) .

 

* * *

 

To dance is to be outside of yourself; larger, more beautiful, more powerful. This is power, it is glory on earth- and when I dance, when I really dance- just to dance, not to distract and not because it’s asked of me, the whole world falls away.

Dancing, for me at least, has always been fun- performing is not fun. Being an actress is something that frustrates me; but dancing never frustrated me. I’ve never had a problem with asking my body to do something and then having my body do it- my problem before was I was asking my body for the wrong things. I asked my body to “get pregnant”; I didn’t ask it to “stay pregnant”. Really, I didn’t want to be pregnant.

Although it may look easy, the actual practice of Sky Dance is very hard. Skuan doctrine concerning training is- the moment it becomes instinctive, is the moment you introduce play elements. I love to dance; and Sanji loves me. And so he learned to dance in the sky.

Sanji still wobbles occasionally; he can’t really do a foxtrot yet, and I’ve never been very good at the tango. Neither of us terribly like the Norten Waltz- the roles are very separated, it’s… fairly boring, honestly. And while I can quickstep, he cannot; at least, not in midair. Not yet.

We’re working on it.

 

Dance is a wordless form of expression, translating emotions and thoughts into physical movements. As for the why- my answer is “it’s fun”. I can’t say why someone else dances- but the usual answer is, ‘it’s fun.’ Dancing is fun.

 

* * *

 

So… what was that about?[bluescreen]

Ah- living children are represented as seven point stars on the skin; miscarriages and otherwise dead children are five point stars.[shadow]

!! I’m so sorry- I shouldn’t’ve-[Bluescreen]

It’s alright, Sanji. I don’t want to keep secrets from you- I might end up doing so because of brain damage, but you can ask me anything and I’ll tell you- or I’ll tell you if I’m not comfortable talking about it.[shadow]

I know. I- No, I am sorry that happened to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there- and it has nothing to do with, with anything really. I’m just- sad.[bluescreen]

Me too.[shadow]

I- I don’t know how good a parent I would be. But- if they’d lived, I think I could have loved them. I’d have tried, I mean.[bluescreen]

-Sanji, you’re gonna make me cry. I- I might not ever be ready to be a mother… but if it happens with you, I think I can handle it.[shadow]

-Mab… I might not ever be ready to be a father, either. But- I mean. If we ended up…? I mean, I think we could. If it happens.[bluescreen]

Yeah. I think we could. I-if it happens.[shadow]

 

And we danced just a bit more midair, before Sanji’s legs started cramping and we had to stop. He’s getting better.

 

We returned to a sleeping Dana, a quietly content Whitebeard, and seven babies being quietly cooed over by everyone- from a safe distance of two meters at least.

When I sat back down in the loveseat Sanji had been sitting in with me, before I had to do- midwifery- Tilly paused, and threw a heavy packet that clinked at my head. I caught it out of the air, of course- aha. That’s three, then; we pre-filled out all the paperwork, and she’s already been paid. Tilly doesn’t leave the house without her Badge, and now, neither will I. I pull out the golden lotus Medallion and I feel- relieved. I always knew what I was meant to do; but now, I’ve got the credentials for it, too. I clip it to my belt- ah, and there’s one for Taffy too. I’ll give hers to her as soon as I can.

Famband rolls ever onwards.

 

 

 

Spadey and I end up on the same loveseat, as I’ve been chilling on it and Spadey- Spadey held very still, and didn’t seem to breathe at all. I waited, patiently. I can wait. (Asher was on a chair, close enough he could hear us, but turned away; he’s not a part of the conversation.)

 

I can wait for as long as my brother, Spadille, needs.

 

After what seems a very long time, but couldn’t be, Spadille stirred.

 

“Mab?” he asked in a strange, roughened voice I’d never heard from him before.

“I am here,” I replied. Perhaps I sniffled a little, because he said in almost a daze-

“Are you… are you alright?” he said.

“Of course I am,” I replied, voice trembling. After all this time, after- everything- Spadey was still worried about-

“You cried.” Spadey said. I could hear a distant teasing note trying to come back into his voice, and I had to work my throat for an unseemly moment as it had closed with sentiment.

 

“Of course not.” I said, breath hitching.

 

We paused, a mere moment.

 

“Liar.” said Spadille, affection fair dripping from the word.

I leaned into his side, knocked my shoulder against his and smiled, softly.

 

“Incurably so.” I said.

 

 

Spadille chuckled softly, and was silent again for a long, strange moment. Finally, he said quietly, “It really was an illusion, wasn’t it?” 

“You mean the version of you in women’s clothing, the one Morgan couldn’t quite bear to kill- golden hair in a part down the middle and lovely voiced and limbed? That person who was never born, was- Unborn? Was killed, even? Yes, Spadille, it was an illusion; just a Trick.” I replied, trying to add a teasing note to my voice; trying to make Spadille laugh and move on.

Instead, he just sighed and said “Well, that was stupid of me.”

 

It occurred to me then that I had been hearing that particular self-flagellating note entirely too much from my brothers- Asher, recently, and Spadey... for quite a bit longer. No more.

 

“I am very good at that particular bit of Fae magic, and at- at getting right to the heart of things. That hardly makes you stupid.” I said.

“Compared to you, I am.” Spadey replied. I didn’t say anything for quite a while. Music played gently; the sounds of our sisters cooing over our Dana’s new babies floated over.

 

“Sister, that was your cue to say that everyone is stupid compared to you.” said Spadey.

“Indeed?” I said, resting my head against my brother’s shoulder. “The woman who killed her son, and her Brother, and her Mother- and it still did not please the woman, and it still did not make her Mother love her. She thought it would surely make someone love her, but it didn’t. How could it? Aye- there are quite a few words to describe such actions, but I think we can safely agree that ‘stupid’ oughta be one of them.” I hesitated a moment, then plunged on. “To say nothing of what I did to you.” I said.

“You were a child, and scared.” Spadille said, with such generosity for a moment I had to squeeze my eyes quite shut and shake. “No, really- Mab. Mab, you were Princess, and then Crown Princess, one day to be Queen. I was merely a Prince, and Morgan... I was not what She wanted. And- when the time came for me to have courage, I betrayed you, tried to justify my actions against Morgan as- I didn’t...” he said.

“...I lied to you, Spadey.” I whispered.

“-All I knew was that you were Queen, and I didn’t like it because I was scared and you were new, and therefore it must be right that I bring Morgan back- against the direct edict of the Queen of Swans and that of the Lawful Queen, and depose you.” he said.

“Hardly Lawful.” I mumbled.

“Are we going to argue this again? I egged you on, certainly, but the actions that led to your becoming Queen were your own. Titania deserved his execution, and I could not inherit the throne. Fair’s fair, we should have both been killed for our actions, but- what?” he said.

“I’m sorry-” I sniggered, “but can you imagine trying to, to sail the Seventh Sea in the same boat? You’d have torn each other to pieces!”

“Do not try to change the subject,” Spadey said gently. “The point of it is, under the circumstances and in context, your actions were justified and mine were not.”

“...You cannot possibly be telling me I was justified in killing my newborn child?” I rasped.

Spadey shrugged. “It would not be the first time a Queen resorted to such an action, to avert civil war.” he said.

 

I stilled.

 

“There would have been no civil war, and we both of us know it.” I said. Of course not. They’d have followed Titania’s strangeling heir at once, and nevermind how I couldn’t bear to save him. I couldn't bear to save my golden sunset haired son. “I did not… I didn’t do what I did, to avoid civil war. My motivations had very little to do with the good of the Realm.” I said.

 

Spadille said nothing for what felt like a very long time indeed. Then, he spoke again.

 

“You said two years ago, and it was true, that we cannot bear to speak of anything important. Nothing of what happened- nothing that matters. We did, a little, when you visited me on Omnifarious Maleficent Disastrophe-” he said.

“That name is too long-” I said.

“I’m going to change it eventually, but shush. We spoke a little on my ship, but I don’t think we quite reached the heart of things. Can you- can you bear to speak on’t now? It is true that pure politics would explain much of what occurred, but we both were ever disinterested in the movements of political machinery; greased with blood as they are, yet still, our interest never quite fell there.” he said.

 

I could feel myself tensing, all the muscles going sharp-tight-fight ready in my back- and then I made them go loose again. I leaned more firmly onto Spadey.

 

“Please don’t speak of this to our Dauna, but… I think the last straw was something Titania said to me.” I said.

“Titania?” Spadey asked, in obvious disbelief. He shifted to try and look me in the face, but the rest of my head was in the way, and I didn’t want to look at Spadey and see- and see-

 

“Yes. Titania, being himself, probably knew how I would take the words- or, looking back on’t now, he was perhaps  **that** oblivious to the weight his word could carry. We were sitting with Mother’s broken Seals- you recall, they break when one is declared dead-” I said.

“Aye, I recall- Though how you got married without them is a strange thing to consider-” he said.

“I was unstuck in Time and handled all manner of little hiccups, Spadey. Put it from your mind. So- We were sitting vigil, and I was still trying to understand what was happening, what I was now to become, and… and the Royal Guard came and brought me the Crown. I didn’t understand what it meant, at first, I had not… I truly had not realized that with Titania declared male, you masked and tone deaf and also male underneath it all, and Mother… Legally Dead- I hadn’t realized that the throne would fall to me. I had not the time or inclination to think that far ahead.” I said.

“And I suppose I must have pushed matters to a head with my botched assassination.” he said.

“Well. Titania- he knew I was upset, and afraid, and honestly… he was crazy, but he wasn’t  _ bad,  _ not until the end- not until his hormones got the best of him and he had nothing else to do. I realize now that Mother’s habit of nearly overscheduling his time wasn’t actually the wrong thing to do- leaving it unexplained to him was. I… honestly, I think he was trying to encourage me. He told me I was a good and dutiful daughter, and said I should do right by the Crown.” I said. 

 

I paused. Spadey said nothing, but incomprehension radiated from him.

I sighed and went on.

 

“Spadey, the duties of a Queen are to provide more Royals for the Line. That’s  **it** . Titania… he’d never said anything like that before to me, not ever.” I said.

“But Mab, surely… surely you always knew you were a good and dutiful child?” Spadey protested gently.

“Well, I mean… I thought I did. In spite of everything- which was the real problem.  **_That_ ** was the  **_real_ ** problem, you see: I always knew I was a good and dutiful child, in spite of not being the kind of child Mother wanted. I wanted her to see me as the kind of child she wanted- fierce, cunning, a little bit cruel- like the person she thought was  **you.** She wanted Aradia, she wanted… she wanted Rouge reborn, Spadey- she wanted a brave, and generous, and cunning, and fierce daughter; and I am those things now because  **_I taught myself to be such_ ** . Those things are not who I am; I wanted her to want me, to love  **me** , because I was a good daughter, and a good warrior; because I could do what was best for Faeland. Not in  **spite of** who I am, and simply because she could begrudge room for me in her warm heart; though I did not deserve it.” I said.

“You see  _ too much _ in Morgan, Mab.” he hissed.

“You see _too little_. You really think Rouge was the **nice** one in that relationship? Or Roger? And- and when I realized I was not what Morgan wanted, could never be what Morgan wanted- When I realized I was not enough... I thought she never even loved me at all, she pitied me; she was only trying to be kind to me because I was some sort of… mistake. The poor little creature born from her grief-stricken indiscretion and brought into the World in shame and pity and- and scandal- and she tried to make a life for me, a place for me because- Spadey, **_Morgan_** _was the kind one_. Rouge did whatever the hell she wanted, and Roger- Roger was selfish. Morgan did as her duty commanded her, and where possible, kindly.” I said.

“What, you think your kindness comes from Morgan?” he said.

“I Know so- I’ve never been compared to Rouge when I’m actually  **being kind** , after all. And there’s hardly anyone left who remembers Morgan at her best. Transferral is a step away from Abortion, Spadey; if Morgan hadn’t wanted me to live, I would not be here at all. -And of course, as far as I knew, no one had ever been proud of me in my life.” I said.

Spadille made a convulsive movement, then was still- as though repressing the urge to speak, to explain things, to make things better.

I went on.

 

“I thought- I thought:  _ I will fulfill my duties. It is not so bad, to have children- my reign is only temporary, but I, I, I can be a good Royal during my time, I can defend the Realm; I can continue our Line and bear new beings into this World, and when they are grown and I am gone, perhaps they will have pride in me. Perhaps they will even love me- really love me. _ ” I said.

 

Spadille is crying. (So is Asher, in his chair.)

The sound of nearly hysterical joy, from where the New World rests.

 

“It didn’t happen, of course- all my life, I’d been ignoring the Sea Longing; mostly, people that do that become profoundly unhappy, sickly, even. But for a woman trying to get pregnant, that’s about the worst possible thing- and of course, I was so young on top of all the stress, and the new appointment... I just couldn’t stay pregnant. I could get pregnant, but I couldn’t stay pregnant long enough for the babies to survive outside my body. I’d grow them long enough to feel them moving within me, and give them names between the two of us; then- and then, of course, Titania raped me, I killed him, and I made you put that egg inside me because...” I said.

“Because you were profoundly unhappy and wanted to die.” he whispered. Or maybe thought. I'm not sure, and it doesn't matter anyway.

“Aye. I won’t deny it- I was profoundly unhappy and I wanted to die. Or at the very least, for someone to kill me. -I lied to everyone about who you were for years and years, never mind the lies I told to your face- and of course, I knew, I  _ knew  _ that I could never let Morgan return to Faeland, not while I held the Crown, nor could I let Titania live- nevermind his crime against me- because, even if I explained why the child I would bear of his blood would be removed from the succession, struck from the Line… I wasn’t liked in Court, Spadey. They didn’t want me.” I said.

“I know.” he said.

“They would never want me, they  **never** wanted me, and they would never be satisfied with what little I could do- I just wasn’t strong enough for them, wasn't good enough, wasn't- I wasn't Proper and never would be, and even when I proved without doubt that, in truth, I was more than strong enough to do the job… I could never show them my strength. And of course, I could never be quite Proper; Morgan bore me due to an indiscretion on her part, not by laying with her Lawful husband. “So. 

“I went to you, and lied about my intentions towards the egg, only- only as I spoke to you the lies became worse and worse, because I wanted to hurt you with lies like I had been. -Morgan lied to me, Spadey. I’m exactly like the worst parts of Rouge, after all- I don’t look like her, I don’t sound like her, I just… act like her. I act like her at her most vindictive and cruel. And Morgan said I wasn’t anything like Rouge at all.” I said, hot tears of rage cutting at my eyes.

“...And I suppose my willfulness and curiosity and rage are Rouge’s as well?” he said.

“Aye. Rouge had a nasty, stubborn temper- she was beautiful, and selfish, and cruel; Roger was… honestly, he was exactly like my Captain is now, if a little less impulsive- stubborn, selfish, loyal; Morgan was smart, but fragile- honorable, patient, and exacting. All three of them together, as near as I can figure, made a more or less balanced unit. They just… weren’t together when they really needed to be, and then… well, you know.” I said.

 

Spadey sighed. So did I. Asher glanced over from his chair- and, without thinking about it, I shoved over on the couch. Patted the spot next to me- because, although he’s not involved… he is. Asher stands, scrubs his face, and then slides down into the spot I’ve made for him. It’s a bit of a squeeze, but we manage.

I- no, this isn’t- hang on-

 

“Uh-? I can- I can leave-” says Asher.

“Nope.” I say.

“Ah, like this-” says Spadey.

 

I flop my legs over Asher, gently hooking them over the side of the couch; I prop my head on Spadey’s meaty thigh. Much better. Spadey wraps a mighty python around Asher’s shoulder; he tenses, then relaxes into the touch.

I look over at the two of them, before- oh, I remember now.

 

“Y’know, a six-pack at a double gunshow isn’t really the best of ideas...” I say.

“Mab, I’m not going to start wearing shirts just because you think I’m getting perved on.” says Ace.

“Oh, no, not for you- your skwids are going to grow up thinking that not wearing shirts is just a thing that can be done. I mean, Moda already doesn’t wear much in the way of clothing-” I say, musingly.

“Fuck.” hisses Ace, because he’s just figured  it out.

“-and of course, now that your skwids are old enough to remember you, you can’t just start wearing shirts, you’ll scare them.” I continue, mercilessly.

“Fffuuuuuck...” hisses Ace, his hands pressing into his eyes.

Spadey laughs unhelpfully, patting his twin on the freckled shoulder.

 

We leaned on each other for a long, quiet moment. Music and laughter filled the air, but I felt as if we were in another room entire, far removed from the merriment of a Songsday afternoon.

 

“...I forgot that Lamia was your crewmate, Spadey, and would explain things to you truthfully, and all my lies would be exposed anyway. And then Morgan got into contact with you, even though she knew she had been Legally Killed, even though she knew she had no business in Faeland anymore- she couldn’t have known why it was my fault she was exiled, she just… she just...” I said.

“She assumed it was wrong for you to be on the throne, and she told me to kill your heir or kill you. And then, of course, she said to kill you both and I could not refuse her. Good Girls Listen to their Mothers.” he rasps, smile slowly fading away again.

“Aye. I was so angry, and so- so desperate for things to just  _ end _ , for that awful endless parade of days to  **_end_ ** ; because if Morgan came back, I would never have the chance to leave- and oh god, Spadey, I wanted to leave  _ so  _ **_much_ ** \- and- and- and that was when I began to think I hated you, because if you brought Morgan back I would never be free again no matter what I did or how many children I managed to have. It was so cold, there, Spadey- a cold, bitter anger, a rage that persisted beyond the grave. I was a monster, a- a jorogumo that had to prove it, had to show the Court, the World- everyone, everyone how  **_worthy_ ** I was to be Queen of Fae, to be Morgan’s daughter, to be a friend, to be loved- and- and I was so angry that I let you shoot me.” I said.

“You didn’t  **let** me do anything.” he said.

“Spadey, all I had to do was turn my head but a little; you’re only an incomparable shot at long range.  **I let you shoot me** .” I said. My voice broke; I was aware of being vaguely surprised that it had held up for so long- and then, only a gulping silence.

 

Spadey was quiet for so long that I began to entertain the strange fear that I’d finally managed to ruin everything. Then, Spadey said with a strange gentleness-

 

“But you realize it now- you do realize that Aunt Ravelle, and Aunt Zippy, and all our sisters- and, and Ace, and me, too; you do realize that we’ve always been proud of you, right? And… Aunt Ravelle and Aunt Zippy, they love you, just as they love me, in spite of my temper and my arrogance and my pride.” Spadey reached out and covered my hand with his. “I don’t know that anyone is ever loved  **_because_ ** . Respect and pride can be earned, yes, and our family is proud of you because you are intelligent, and an accomplished mage, and, in spite of everything, at heart you are loyal and protective- though your methods are, at times, inscrutable. But… Mab, we love you **_because_ ** we love you.” he said.

“They love you  **_because_ ** they love you, too, Spadey- and for no other reason. I love you because I love you. It doesn’t matter what you asked Lamia to do, and it doesn’t matter what you did- I love you because I love you.” I said.

 

Spadille didn’t say anything for a long moment.

 

“If one does enough that is wrong, love can die.” he said, in a soft, wavering voice.

“That is true. But we did not do that much.” I said, resolute.

 

I turned my hand so I could hold Spadey’s.

 

“I have always- even when I hated you, I still loved you. It was one of the things that- made me pick and pick at the stitches you put in my head.” I said.

“Ah. I had wondered about that.” he said.

“Mm. I do know that you love me, really- I do, I know it. I’ll admit, I did not always-” I said.

 

Spadey let out a chuff of unamused laughter.

 

“Nor did I, until I thought you were gone forever, and then I would have done anything, anything at all, to take it all back and have you return, just as you were- sour and sullen and snarling and all. I was sick with fear that- that if we ever met again, in this world or the next, you would turn and look at me as if you expected me to turn on you and break you again.” he said.

 

Spadey’s grip on my hand tightened, but not enough to hurt.

 

“You are not a monster, Mab. You’re not a monster any more than your husband, your crewmates, your Captain- nor Ace, or me, or any of our sisters, or our Dauna, or Granuna. Some of the things we believed when we were young are simply Wrong. It was Wrong to teach us those things.” he said.

“-You will not say anything of this to our Dana? Titania was their favored heir, after all...” I said.

“No,” Spadey said. “It would hurt them very much, to think you were ever unsure of their love. I don’t say that as a rebuke to you-” Spadey added hastily, holding my hand tightly, “-because there were misunderstandings on all sides, but it would hurt them.”

“Speaking of things that would hurt… you spoke of the way I would look at you- I did not believe you would hurt me again, not after- not after the way things ended between us last time. I was just afraid that… that you were afraid that I would hurt you- that I would hurt you more than I did, I mean.” I said.

“Ach, **_no._ ** No one who watches herself so closely could ever do that. Unless- unless you are so hard on yourself, judge every little slip so harshly, that you make yourself feel you should not even try anymore. You won’t do  **that** to yourself, sister?” he said.

 

I shook my head, knowing that Spadey could feel the motion. He sighed.

 

“It hurt so, these past two years; every time our sisters would interact with each other or with Ace or with me, and I’d look to you and see you holding yourself apart. As if- as if you were afraid of what we were thinking of you, afraid I, or anyone, did not love you enough to really trust you. This was the first time we have been together and understood each other since before everything happened, and all I can see is what I should have seen years ago. If I had seen it then and repaired it then, none of this need ever have happened. 

“I knew it was my fault, that I was responsible- no, I am talking.  **Be silent.** I knew I was to blame because I took you for granted, I did not make sure you knew your happiness and fulfillment were more important to me than any duties and… and empty honors of our house. Much is made of the Honor of our House, of Morgan, but the only thing it ever seems to bring anyone is misery. I didn’t make sure you knew, knew until you believed it, that you are more important to me than- Honor. 

“It all began, of course, with me trying to be what Harri Morgan wanted, and never once noticing that what She wanted and who I actually  **am** are diametrically opposed- and it only got worse when I started showing off for her, trying to demonstrate that I was the better choice, the important one, and I behaved as though you had no feelings at all and would always be there for me and never notice my disrespect.” he said.

 

I squeeze his hand.

 

“Ever since you aired the true reason for your Blood Feud against Morgan in the Yellow Submarine, called… Octopus Garden, I think? -ever since you told me that one time, on my ship- you told me once that you should have been told from the beginning that you were only two-thirds ours by blood, because then you would have at least known why we didn’t love you… Or maybe I am confusing Hearing your Heart with hearing you speak again, I can’t be sure. 

“I cannot stop thinking about that, Mab. 

“How many years you must have shoved the boulder of Morgan’s expectations up the hill of her indifference, believing the whole time that no one in the world loved you. That no one cared about you. That’s my fault, Mab- I did that to you. I made you believe it, and I made my friends believe it too, so they did not treat you any better than I did- so they could hurt someone so kind and selfless as I did- and at least they had the excuse that they were not hurting someone they loved more than anything. 

“And then, hah, then I had the arrogance to creep up behind you, like a coward, and ask if you knew it would come to this moment- if you knew I would betray you. I had the arrogance to pretend I had no idea why you were angry at me- so angry that you let me shoot you three times and tear my own heart out in the process.” he said.

“Spadey, don’t,” I murmured. “Stop, it is enough-”

“-And let you be the only one who is allowed to learn anything from these shared disasters?  **No.** I told myself, I promised, Mab- if I ever could have you back as my sister I would do better, I would do things differently, I would make  _ sure  _ you knew. These past two years I have been so glad to have you near again, and so grateful to have another chance even though I knew I did not deserve it, and then all I could think was that I was still going about it all wrong and upsetting you and pushing you away and- I’m just so stupid sometimes, Mab, I can hardly stand it.” he said.

 

I shake him, as well as one can shake anyone half again their body weight and at entirely the wrong angle.

 

“Stop that, Spadey. I mean it. My crimes were my own doing and my own fault- my hurt feelings and injured pride are no excuse.” I said.

"My mistakes were my doing too, Mab." Spadey said stubbornly. "-and they were certainly not all innocent. You are not going to sit here and tell me pretty lies, and try to make me think you did not really feel like an outcast all those years, that it didn't hurt you to be passed over and excluded and ignored. If it did not matter to you, how you were treated, you would not have been so heartbroken and so angry. 

“You told Aunt Ravelle and Aunt Zippy and me that you should have realized we loved you. Our Aunts are one matter, but I am at a loss to know how you could possibly have known that I love you when I scarcely took the trouble to show it. I knew you were unhappy, and any idiot could have put the pieces together and realized that perhaps the way I treated you had something to do with it, and perhaps- just  **_maybe-_ ** you didn’t want to be bound to a Land that didn’t love you." he said.

"Any idiot could have realized that, even if all my plans worked, they would not result in our Aunts and Morgan congratulating me on fratricide and murder, on murdering their child and grandchild. At least poor crazy Morgan was only trying to gain power, not win approbation." I said.

 

I released my hold on Spadey and wiped my eyes.

 

“I’m sorry for killing your kids, Mab.” Spadey said.

“Oh, this again?” I said.

“It’s been bothering me for years, so- yeah,  **this** again. I realized I’ve never actually apologized for it- and I know it was only the one kid I actually conspired against, but… If I hadn’t tried to kill Morgan when you’d already declared yourself against her-” he said.

“Spadey, it’s okay.” I said.

“It’s not! I- I picked who I loved most, and- I tried to...” he said.

“You think I didn’t pick?” I said.

“What-?” he said, turning to me.

“Spadey, it’s not possible to love someone you’ve never met. Seven times, I was pregnant; and seven times, I failed my duty. I never met any of those people, Spadey- no, I’m not done talking, shut up. There is a difference between the fulfilling of duty and parental love. I got pregnant out of duty- it’s nonsensical to have seven pregnancies in two years. I did it because- well.” I said.

 

I sighed. Spadey looked over at me, quietly contemplating something- he only had half the truth, before now, I suppose.

 

“You didn’t think you’d live through killing Morgan.” he said.

“No, I didn’t. I knew I could kill her- I knew it could be done; no one is immortal, after all. And I knew I needed to secure some kind of legacy before I went after her for real, because I- Spadey, Morgan was a Shichibukai before she ever met Roger. I… I don’t know if I could have killed her, then- killed her and lived through the end of the battle. And at the end, I didn’t want to. -I don’t love Rouge, and I don’t love our sires- not any of them- and I certainly didn’t love the ones I lost. The last one is the one I came closest to loving, and you know exactly what I did to him. But I loved Morgan, because to me… to me, she was the closest I thought I’d ever get to the Sea.” I said.

“How could you love her-!? Oh. Oh,  **_Mab._ ** ” he said, crying again.

“She wasn’t always bad, Spadey. I loved her, and forgave her what she did to me- not to you, or Oberon, but to me. I had to let all of that- go. Every time I tried to justify my killing of her, I couldn’t follow through. It was only when I accepted that I was going to do her a great Wrong that I was able to finish things.” I said.

“Mab, Morgan was… she wasn’t… I- I can’t forgive her.” he said.

“I know. You don’t have to- honestly, I can’t either; for some things, I can’t forgive her at all. Some things ought not be forgiven.” I said.

“-You never knew  [ my pain ](http://orig05.deviantart.net/a3a8/f/2013/281/3/6/__you_never_knew_my_pain______by_gueparddefeu-d6pq3qo.jpg) , Mab. We were children, and you always did your best to help me- and you never knew. You never had to face Her at her absolute worst. I am glad of that, really- but I resent you for it too.” he said.

“And you knew  [ my pain ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Postpartum_depression) , Spadey? Pain is pain- it’s not something you measure or quantify. More importantly- you didn’t kill Morgan. You tried, you failed; I tried, I failed, and then I did. I killed Harriet Morgan. And, though I am glad of that- I resent you for it, too.” I said.

“...I know. I’m sorry, Mava.” he said.

“Spadey, I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for everything. You Know.” I said.

“Yeah.” he said.

“...I’m so glad the two of you- all of you, the Littles too, not just you two- I’m so, so glad you never grew up like me. I’m so glad you never had to question if anyone, anywhere, would care if you died- maybe not you, Mab, but...” said Asher.

“No, I was always kind to the servants and such- they’d have mourned my passing, now that I think about it.” I say.

“Right. Well- I’m really, really glad you two didn’t grow up like I did. Neither of you were raised by mountain bandits. I’m glad of that- truly, I am. I just resent all of you for it, a little bit- you had everything you could ever want, it sounds like. Never cold in the winter, or hungry, or sick and fearful that you would not get better- and I resent, a little, that… that you had a Mother at all, and not… no one. No one except a gang of mountain bandits that didn’t want you and a Shitty Gramps who nearly killed you and called it ‘training’. Then again- you two must resent me, a bit, too.” says Ace.

“Well, I’m glad you’re alive, firstly; and I’m glad you got to do what you wanted, which was go out and search for what was missing, at Sea. I’m glad you had brothers that never betrayed you, and I’m glad you were able to find a family of your own, right when you needed them the most. And yes, Asher- I do resent you, just a little bit, for having the things I never got, before these past two years.” I say.

“I’m also glad you’re alive,” said Spadey, “And I’m glad you have a direction you want to follow in life. I’m glad that goodness and mercy and blessings are falling onto your head like warm summer rain, to follow you all the days of your life. I just resent, a little, that I can’t have those things too- not yet, at least. And not for anything you did, but because… I don’t know what I want. I don’t have a reason that drives me. With Morgan dead and gone, I’m… a bit lost, honestly. I know I can’t follow Whitebeard- I’m aiming for his spot eventually, I can’t follow him, that’s dirty- but… From here to there is kinda… blank.”

“You could be a trader, Spadey.” I hum.

“I guess...” Spadey sighed.

 

Ace sighed, and rasped through a throat thick with tears, “For as long as I could remember, the reason I wanted to go out to Sea wasn’t because- because of freedom, or piracy, or anything like that. Going back, all the way to the beginning- I remember… missing you. You, Spadey; I remember being next to you, somewhere warm and dark and then- you were gone, and I was alone. And I missed you. I wanted you back. I guess… the first thing I really knew I needed to do was to go out and find you, no matter if… if finding you meant finding a grave. Except, of course, I didn’t know you were  _ you _ , I just knew I had to find… something. I’m sorry I didn’t find either of you sooner; I’m so sorry.” 

Spadey lets himself tilt over, and knocks his head into Asher’s shoulder. Asher lets his head rest against Spadey’s, the both of them breathing quietly. Asher lets tears ooze down his face and into Spadey’s hair, and Spadey

 

“I suppose I didn’t help matters, what with being  **_almost_ ** what you were looking for-  _ after _ you’d decided you’d found what you were looking for. I assume that’s why you joined the Whitebeards, aye?” I say.

Asher nods.

“And by the time you and I met, for the first time, you were so exhausted… it wasn’t anything like you imagined, was it.” said Spadey.

“No. No, I- I only really began to Know that you were  _ you _ , Spadey, when we took that nap together, but I was still so tired...” sighed Asher.

 

We all sigh.

 

"How are you feeling?" I say.

"Surprisingly well, all things considered." Spadey replied. "Thank you, sister."

“And you, Asher?” I say.

“I’m… I’m glad to have heard all of this, but… Changing really is painful, isn’t it. Still- thank you for letting me hear all of this, sister.” says Asher.

"Least I could do," I hummed. “I don’t suppose you have a Dream, now, Spadey?” 

“Ah. Well- It was always my Dream to outlive Morgan, but now that I have… I’m not sure what to go after, really. There’s of course my oath of a lifetime, but, well- There's big, life altering Dreams, and there’s smaller Dreams that are more easily grasped. You know.” he said.

“Aye, I know very well. Out with it Portgas D. Spadille Rogue Morgan- What do you want?” I said.

“I want… God, I want what you and Ace have. I want love and a family of my own.” he said.

“Mhm. I have no idea how to go about that for you. I mean, you’re halfway to a family, what with your Freebird Armada- or is it the Sparrow Alliance?- but as for love...” I said.

“It’s fine, I’ll make it work. -It’s the Sparrow Alliance, actually. ...I mean, I also want a fucking sweet ass tattoo, I’m feeling kinda left out...” he said.

“Now  **_that,_ ** I can help you with.” I said.

 

Spadey chuckled.

 

"Yes. Well, Aunt Zippy did tutor you in your initial needlepoint work." He paused. "I do love you, Mab. And you, Ace."

"I know. And I love you, Spadey; and you, Ace. Try to remember that, the next time I’m really rude and annoying, will you?" I said.

"As long as you remember that I love the both of you, the next time I do something pridefully stupid." said Ace.

“I love both of you; just… the next time I’m wracked with indecision, or do something distasteful- I really do love both of you.” said Spadey.

"It’s a bargain, and Fair besides." I said.

“I agree.” said Ace.

“It’s a deal, then.” said Spadille.

 

And we smiled at each other, before the Narcolepsy got us all.

 

Fuckin’ Narcolepsy.

 

 

 

Later, after we’d all woken up again and had a moment to calm down, my brother Spadey laid down on the ground and let me kneel at his side. Across his back lay the marks of Morgan’s madness- thick, ugly scars that bear the marks of my careful stitching, tiny neat rows trying to make the ugly truth better than it was, and is. 

When I was done with my ink and my needles- well, for one thing Del and Felix and… Sisko? And Ace- okay, my siblings wanted tattoos of their own from me, and Spadey had a sickass flock of twelve sparrows flying across his back- one of which was on fire and orange, so there could be no mistakes about who the birds are.

They were, in order; the Blue-green one, like the Sargasso Sea; the Blazing one, like Fire; the Realistic one, in homely browns; the Chemical one, a chemical structure of ethanol over the water-color washes of an oil-slick bright colored sparrow; the Dancing one, a skeletal bird over thorns and flames; the Wild One, done in Gemtones and wreathed in mist; the Misty one, made of Mist and flickers of birds-that-could-be; the Bastion one, carrying a coconut in it’s doughty claws (yes, there’s a joke there, no, I’m not explaining it); the Stylized one, all art deco swoops and bold lines; the Animal one, more cave-art than representation, more magic than mystery; the Blue one, which Del donated the ink for- it’s marvelous stuff to work with and it showed so beautifully, really it does; and the Lawful one, who carries the sword and basically  _ is _ a set of scales. (Asher got a trio of seven pointed stars at the base of his throat. I had to take a breather after I finished his.)

 

* * *

 

“Spadey- I’ve never asked, but… how’d you get those scars?”

“Ah. Well- your Pops has never run from a fight, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, neither have I, really. It’s just- every scar on my back I got by protecting someone who couldn’t protect themselves. They aren’t marks of shame, I don’t think.”

“Hmm. But why on your back, though?”

“Because it’s dishonorable to attack someone from behind, and I was trying to make a point.”

“Ah. That’s kind of...”

“Yeah, I’m not all that smart. I’m not stupid, but… I don’t think things through all that often.”

“Kind of noble, though. Bloody-minded, too.”

“Aye, well- I never did say I was all that kind, Ace. That’s Mab’s wheelhouse, not mine.”

“Spadey, Mab’s basically the kindest woman who’s ever lived.”

 

Spadey shot me a half grin. I smirked back. Mab reached over and laid a wet, smacking kiss on the both of us, first me then Spadey; to both our disgust.

 

“I love the both of you too.”

 

Ugh. Sisters.

 

* * *

 

And the music, which had started early in the morning, played all through the night.


End file.
